


Battle of the Biceps

by marieadriana



Series: ARROW, Inc. [6]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers - Ambiguous Fandom
Genre: Druids, Established Relationship, Events of Iron Man 2, Events of Thor, Multi, Secret Marriage, Telepathic Bond
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-17
Updated: 2017-10-09
Packaged: 2018-12-03 10:06:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 31
Words: 71,599
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11529996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/marieadriana/pseuds/marieadriana
Summary: Committed triad Clint, Phil, and Natasha experience the events of Iron Man 2, Thor, and The Incredible Hulk (collectively known as Fury's Big Week, though this covers a bit more before and after.)  Takes place in May/June 2011.





	1. Chapter 1

“I just don’t understand why it has to be Nat,” Clint repeated, still pacing the confines of the dressing room.

“You know very well it has to be me, dearling,” she told him, straightening her pencil skirt and tucking a stray curl into place in the upwardly-mobile-assistant hair style she was sporting. “Misty isn’t far enough in her training, and she’s the only other one of Phil’s agents with a prayer of getting hired at Stark Industries.”

Clint halted in front of Phil, arms crossed. Absently Phil touched his shoulder, ran a thumb down the well-defined bicep. “Stop trying to distract me,” Clint growled without much heat.

“I’m not,” Phil said with a smile, leaning over to kiss the archer gently on the lips. “I was being distracted by you.” He stroked his thumb along the line of muscle again. “You know it has to be Natasha,” he murmured. “I don’t like it either – as her husband. As her handler, she is the best choice for this mission and I have complete confidence in her abilities.”

“It’s not her abilities I’m worried about,” Clint said, covering Phil’s hand with his own. “You know Stark. He’ll… he’ll make a move, you know that.”

Natasha met his eyes in the mirror. “Clint. This is my job. I know what I’m doing. He’ll make a move, and I’ll flirt back, and you’ll watch my back while I do it. This is what we do, Hawkeye.”

He flinched at her use of his codename, but nodded miserably. “I know. I know. It’s just… more difficult than I expected.”

“We’ve been on other missions,” she reminded him. “You watched me dance with that smuggling sheik.”

“And get felt up by that Russian playboy,” Phil added.

“This is different.” Clint tried to put it into words – tried to figure out how to express the roil of thoughts in his brain. It almost felt like he had at Ostara, but Litha was a month away – he didn’t think this was a result of druidic mojo. “I’ve just… I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Sunshine. I don’t like that you’re going in alone.”

“Is this Clint my husband, Barton my partner, or Boghdoir my fellow Warrior speaking?” Natasha asked calmly.

“I have no fucking clue,” Clint sighed. “I know I’d have objected to this assignment before we were married, because you don’t have any backup. So that’s the partner talking. The husband… well, I don’t like the idea of anyone else’s hands on our wife – even for a good cause.” He shook his head. “I have no idea if this is Goddess-driven, though.”

“Perhaps you should speak to Her,” Phil suggested. “And while you do that, I’d like Barton the partner to consider something.”

“Alright.”

Phil kissed Clint again, more warmly. “Even if every tracking and communications device we come up with fails, Boghdoir Barton can reach M’inion Nat through Gaia – and Clint can reach Natasha through their bond. She’s not alone, pretty bird.”

Clint leaned forward until he could rest his forehead against Phil’s. “I love you both.”

“I love you both,” they echoed, and Phil kissed him again before giving him a gentle push towards the door. “Go, speak to Gaia. You’ll feel better.” Clint saluted lazily at the door and trotted down the hallway.

Phil made certain that the door had latched behind him before returning his attention to Natasha. They were on SHIELD property, but Natasha had thoroughly swept the dressing room for any monitoring equipment before she’d begun dressing for her part – something she’d done long before their triad formed and which would not arouse suspicion. “Are you feeling anything out of the ordinary about the mission?” he asked her.

If he hadn’t been watching her face in the mirror, he might have missed the flicker of doubt in her eyes. She knew he’d seen, and rolled her eyes in admission. “Yes. I can’t swear that it is anything other than not wanting to be pawed over by Mr. Stark, but… it doesn’t feel like it’s related to this mission. I mean, it’s related to now – the time period – but not this? Does that make sense?”

“No,” he said, and stepped closer to drop a kiss on the back of her neck. “Nothing about these vague hints you two get makes sense.”

Natasha turned to him, cupping her hands around his face. “I know. I’m sorry.” She kissed his forehead and then his lips, tender rather than passionate.

“I’m not looking forward to his eyes – or hands – on you, either,” Phil admitted.

“It’s nothing new, loverling,” she reminded him. “You know I’ve done this before. You’ve watched me do it.”

Phil closed his eyes for a moment, reaching up to cover her left hand with his right, tracing her wedding ring lightly. “Maybe I’m feeling insecure, knowing you’ll be courted by a multibillionaire genius with a bigger weapon collection.”

A smile curved at her lips slowly. “It’s the weapon collection that has you worried, isn’t it?”

“Entirely.”

She laughed and pulled him close for a long, sweet kiss. “I’d rather have you in jeans and an apron than in an Iron Man suit any day, loverling.”

~ * ~

\\\You are troubled, Boghdoir,// Gaia greeted him.

{Yeah, Mama. I am.} He’d kicked off his shoes to sink his toes into the meager grass, but decided he wanted more contact and rolled up his pantlegs, sitting cross-legged with his back against a concrete retaining wall. {Why is this bugging me so bad?}

\\\I do not have an answer for that, my archer. I do agree that there are some… unsettling portents.//

Clint let out a deep breath. {So I’m not imagining it.}

\\\No, my archer. Even I cannot foresee the future – I cannot say that the unease you feel is related to your achroi ghra or to some other event forthcoming. I would caution you not to look only in one place for this disturbance – it may have nothing to do with M’inion Nat’s assignment.//

{It’s times like this that I really wish you had arms, because I could use a hug,} Clint admitted. It wasn’t something he’d have said aloud – he wasn’t even certain he’d have said it to Natasha telepathically. But his bond with Gaia meant that he kept no secrets from her, even those that made him feel foolish.

\\\Were it not to cause you more problems than comfort, I would send my druid to perform that duty for me.//

Clint blanched. {Yeah, no. That would be bad.} Fury was still making veiled accusations at Phil, even two months after the “Red Hair” incident, as Natasha had dubbed the discovery of one of Catriona’s hairs on Phil’s shirt collar. It was part of why her current cover persona had long, curly red hair – no way for Fury to distinguish the two, unless he were willing to do DNA testing. Not that Clint doubted his obsession could lead there, but it hadn’t yet. Maybe it was time to cultivate a lab tech or two – someone to alert him if such a test were ordered.

\\\If I may make a suggestion, Boghdoir?//

{Always, Mama.}

\\\Put it to treorai’s apprentice – the laoch beag. She is a capable agent, and is well able to do such a service for you.//

{Huh. Good notion.} Misty was a good idea – the Scoobies had improved in leaps and bounds since the change-up to their training program in March. She’d be willing, he was certain – she was fond of Catriona as well, and seemed to take Fury’s dislike of the druid personally. {I’ll talk to her. Is there anything else I can do?}

\\\I have no other suggestions at this time, Boghdoir. If ought arises, I will speak to you of it.//

{Thanks Mama.} He squinched his bare toes in the grass in the closest way he could think of to hugging the ground.

\\\You are a dear man, boghdoir, and I am honored to have your service. Blessed be.//

He felt Her withdraw, but didn’t rise immediately. He wasn’t ready to go back into the building, to put his Agent Barton face back on. If he could have, he’d have plane-walked himself straight into the room where his spouses were – but that ability was limited to druids, and not Warriors. If he were honest with himself, it was getting harder to stuff husband Clint back under his Agent Barton mask. He’d thought he was made of sterner stuff.

{If you continue to berate my husband, I’ll have to insist you stop,} Natasha said in his mind. He hid his grin. {You are exactly as you should be, dearling. And someday…}

There was that word again – and it held so much hope and promise. {Someday,} he agreed. {And then I can tell Fury to shove it where the sun don’t shine when he wants to send my wife in to get pawed by an arrogant playboy.}

Her surprised amusement eased the last of his tension. {I would absolutely love to see that. All of SHIELD would love to see that. Imagine what we could make on ticket sales.}

~ * ~


	2. Chapter 2

Cheered by the notion of someday, Clint straightened his pantlegs and went looking for Misty. She wasn’t difficult to find – the Scooby Squad was technically out of training and in rotation, but Phil hadn’t assigned them on anything but internal duties. Currently the squad was split between guard duty in the med bay and one of the research labs, and Clint knew Misty had put herself in the med bay – it was the least favorite task of all agents, and she was the kind of leader that wasn’t afraid to take the crap jobs.

When he entered the medical bay, one of the nurses flashed him a startled and unhappy look. “Agent Barton, I hadn’t heard you were in the field this week.”

Translation: no one warned us you might walk in wounded, and we don’t have a suitable sacrifice chosen for the unbearable task of treating you.

He grinned. “I’m not, and I’m not here as a patient.” He tried not to laugh at the relief on her face, really he did, but she was so damned transparent. “I need to speak with Agent Summers, is she around?”

The nurse paused a moment, then pointed her pen down the hallway. “She should be outside room eleven, or just inside the door.”

“Thanks.” He tipped an imaginary hat at her and headed down the hallway, wondering who was in room eleven that warranted an agent on the door. His curiosity was left unsatisfied, however, as Misty was standing loosely at parade rest in front of the closed door, and the blinds were drawn. She greeted him with a respectful salute – as was proper, from junior agent to senior training agent – and a raised eyebrow, which was from Misty to Clint. “Summers, you got a minute?” he asked, in a manner he’d learned from Phil – the one that said ‘I’m asking a question, but the answer had better be yes.’

“Depends. Do I need to leave my station?” she asked, the eyebrow still raised.

Clint glanced around, noted the usual shuffle of staff and patients, and internally cringed. “Nope.” He was quickly rethinking his idea of just putting the whole task to her right there. “You got plans after your shift?”

Now her gaze turned wary. “Depends.”

“Well, you’ve got them now,” he said cheerfully. “Meet me at the dojo, I’d like to go over a few things.”

Her eyes cleared, though she kept a scowl on her face. “Yes, sir.” To anyone else, it would appear that Agent Barton had just ordered her to give up some of her precious free time for additional training – she knew he’d invited her for dinner at the triad’s home. No one in their right mind turned down a Coulson meal.

“That’s a good slayer,” he said with a wink and walked out of the med bay. Her muffled curse followed him and he stifled a grin. After all, it would be out of character not to tease the recruits – even his handler’s protege.

He returned to the dressing room, feeling better for the time with Gaia and the walk to and from the medical bay. Clint knocked briefly on the door, hollering as he did so. “Romanoff, you decent?”

“Never, Barton, but come in anyway.”

It was his standard query – her standard answer. He slipped in the door, locking it behind him, and leaned back against it. Natasha was in another one of her cover’s outfits – today was all about wardrobe, as Natalie Rushman was a fully developed cover with an apartment to furnish. He could already see her sinking into the persona – she fluttered her eyelashes at him coquettishly and did an impromptu twirl to show off the flirty hemmed skirt she was wearing.

She paused, ‘Natalie’ dropping away and Natasha coming to the front again. “What’s wrong, dearling?” Clint had an odd expression on his face and his mind was closed off again.

“I’ll be glad when Natalie goes back in the closet and Natasha comes home to us,” he told her honestly. “She’s cute and perky, and I’m sure she’s an excellent legal clerk, but I’m going to miss our wife.”

“I’m not cute and perky?” Natasha asked with a slight quirk of one side of her lips.

Phil laughed. “If we called you that, you’d shoot us.”

“Not somewhere fatal.”

“Which makes it all okay,” Clint deadpanned. He straightened up from the door. “Alright. Natalie needs lingerie, right?” He moved to one of the wardrobes, sliding open a drawer to admire matched sets. “What is her favorite color?”

“No one is going to see her underwear,” Natasha reminded him. “I can wear mine.”

He let out a breath and glanced at Phil before he answered. “I’d take it as a big personal favor if you didn’t let a stranger wear the same lingerie I take off you, Sunshine.”

Phil crossed the room to join him, one hand coming to rest in the small of Clint’s back. “I tend to agree with him,” the older man said quietly. “It’s… difficult enough. Give us this much.”

Natasha nodded slowly. She had no idea why this mattered so much to her husbands – it was underwear, who cares? – but it obviously did. “Alright. Her favorite color is green. She likes how it sets off her hair, makes people notice her.”

“Of course she does.”

~ * ~

“Oh. I invited Misty for dinner,” Clint thought to tell them later, as they’d moved onto accessories. Natasha was terrible at picking out her own jewelry, so Phil tended to guide the choices there. Their handler looked up from a rack of necklaces, one eyebrow raised. “I wanted to talk to her about finding a lab tech to alert us to… certain inquiries being made.” At Phil’s doubtful expression, Clint sighed. “Alright, it was Mama’s idea.”

“The best ones usually are,” Natasha said dryly. She was picking through earrings, trying to find something that met Phil’s approval. “DNA?” she asked, though she was fairly certain of his answer.

“Occurred to me that Mad-eye might be that… well… mad,” Clint said reluctantly. “If he’d kept that hair… I don’t think that DNA should be in the system, do you?”

Phil made a thoughtful noise. “Think what someone like Dr. Banner could do with a two millennia old DNA sample,” he said absently. “Or Stark, for that matter. Think of the genetic mutations they’d be able to unravel.” Both of his spouses were staring at him. “What?”

“How’d we wind up with a guy who can think about his boss DNA testing hairs from his sister in law lifted off his own suit and ponder the freaking mysteries of the genetic code?” Clint blurted aloud to Natasha.

“It would be a fascinating scientific endeavor,” he replied calmly. His eyes sparkled with amusement at Clint’s runaway exclamation – he liked rendering his husband near-incoherent. “Why is that so startling?”

Natasha shook her head in mock sadness. “We knew you were a geek when we married you, loverling, but the nerd has been hiding.”

Phil laughed. “Not very hard.”

“Better question,” Clint said, his voice dropping low. “What did we do to get so lucky as to land a hot geek-nerd like this, Sunshine?”

“Oh, is that the mood you’re in,” Phil teased lightly, and made a show of undoing his tie.

“Not fair,” Clint protested, when both he and Natasha had to pause for air. “Not fair at all.” Phil only grinned in response, still selecting jewelry pieces. “If you’d told me ten years ago – okay, maybe fifteen years ago, that I’d wind up with a tie kink, I’d have laughed myself silly.”

Phil’s grin got more wicked. “You don’t have a tie kink,” he purred. “You have a Phil kink.”

Natasha’s breath caught. “Yes, yes we do,” she answered, her eyes fixed on the tiny hint of undershirt visible through his shirt collar. “Damn it, treorai, you’re supposed to be the level head here. We’re not at home.”

“I had noticed.” Phil casually unbuttoned his cuffs, rolling up the sleeves with precision. He returned his attention to the case in front of him – bracelets, now – and pretended not to notice his spouses eyeing him like one of his mother’s pies. He didn’t ordinarily allow himself to indulge at work – and he considered this indulging in his very favorite hobby – but with a mission pending that would send Natasha to a cover apartment for an undetermined time instead of home to them… he was willing to bend the rules. Besides, it had distracted Clint from his distress very effectively.

The archer made a low hissing noise before moving behind Phil and wrapping his arms around the shirt-clad shirt, hands under the tie. He reached for a button and Phil put a quelling hand on his. “Come on, Phil,” Clint whined, pressing his forehead against the back of Phil’s neck. “I’m a Warrior, not a saint.”

Natasha’s laugh was silky as she slid closer to them, some of her own resistance dropping to the floor with the tie she carefully removed from Phil’s neck. “The door’s locked, and we’re not expected anywhere…” she murmured into Phil’s ear, maneuvering herself between him and the jewelry case. When she’d removed his tie, Clint had taken advantage of the motion and unbuttoned the first two buttons of Phil’s shirt, so that Natasha could lean forward and press her forehead against the white undershirt.

Phil’s resolve to keep this light – or at least, lighter – was crumbling. It made him dizzy, when they used their Goddess gifts to move in unison around him. That such artistry was spent on him still dazzled his brain. He’d come to terms with their loving him – even though he didn’t feel worthy, most of the time – but to have the full force of their attention on him was heady. “Phone,” he managed to breathe out, as Natasha nuzzled the base of his throat.

Clint used one hand to slide Phil’s cell phone out of his pants pocket – the official SHIELD phone, not the private phone hidden in the discarded jacket. He laid it on the jewelry case as he undid another button, pulling Phil’s collar down enough that he could kiss bare skin at the back of his neck, a perfect mirror of Natasha’s movements. “We’ll hear it, if it rings,” Clint assured his husband huskily.

Hearing it wasn’t the concern Phil had – he wasn’t sure he’d be able to speak to answer it. Natasha must have seen that on his face because she laughed again, her eyes fixed on his. “Not what he’s thinking, dearling,” she purred. Phil knew she spoke aloud for his benefit and was grateful, even though her voice made the fog of arousal thicker. “We might have to break out a life model decoy if it rings. I don’t think he can talk.”

“I can,” Phil managed. At least, that’s what he tried to say. From the expression on her face, that’s not how it sounded to her.

“If you can…” she answered, and reached for his belt. “Then we’re doing something wrong.”

~ * ~


	3. Chapter 3

“You are a terrible influence,” Natasha murmured to Phil as they dressed. He was still pink around the ears, having alternately blushed and paled while they were… occupied.

“Me?” he said in surprise, hands pausing as he tied his tie. “I’m the bad influence here?” Clint laughed at the indignant squeak in his voice – shy Phil had returned.

“Mmm. I never fraternized on SHIELD property before you,” she told him, leaning over to kiss him. It started sweet and deepened, until Phil pulled away regretfully.

“Neither did I,” he told her dryly. “Maybe we should blame it on Gaia. It’s all Her… earthiness.”

Clint snorted, tried to stifle it, and wound up clutching his side as he was wracked with a weird mix of cough and laughter. “I’m so telling on you, Moonbeam,” he wheezed. “I’m so telling Gaia that you blamed this on Her.” Phil’s expression only made the laughter worse. “She’s the bad influence,” he croaked out, and then gave up his struggle to stay upright and toppled back to the floor, giggling like a mad creature. Or like Cooper, Phil reflected wryly.

Natasha raised an eyebrow at his antics. Even for Clint, this was a little much – and after his broodiness of the morning, she wasn’t sure she liked this excessive giddiness. She exchanged a look with Phil, and though they didn’t share a telepathic connection, they had been together long enough to communicate wordlessly. He nodded once to indicate he’d keep an eye on their husband. Natasha relaxed and moved to one of the full-length mirrors to be sure she was back to… well, what passed for normal for her.

“Come on, pretty bird,” Phil said finally, when Clint’s laughter had died down to the occasional giggle and he had relaxed into the carpet. “Back to work.”

“No ‘pretty bird’ing at work, Moonbeam,” Clint told him, with mock-offended dignity. “Or I keep using yours.”

Phil rolled his eyes. “Alright.” He offered his hand to Clint, who took it and rose easily. Phil was captivated by the flex and ripple of his bicep as he rose – the one connected to the hand he held, and the one supporting Clint’s hand on the floor.

A work of art.

When Natasha coughed politely, Phil turned an even deeper shade of red. “I didn’t,” he pleaded with her.

“You did,” Natasha told him solemnly. “A work of art, really, treorai?”

“Depends on the artist,” Clint retorted, looking at his arms. “Michelangelo or Botticelli?” At their raised eyebrows, he hunched his shoulders defensively. “What, I can’t know art?”

“Michelangelo,” Phil murmured in response. “You can admire art, my love, so long as you allow me to admire you.”

Clint searched his eyes for any sign of humor – teasing – and found only sincerity. He swallowed and rubbed the back of his neck. “Okay.”

Natasha stepped towards him, tugging his hand down from his neck and placing a gentle kiss there instead. “One of these days, you’ll have to believe us when we tell you that we think you’re beautiful,” she told him quietly. “Priceless.”

“I’m working on it,” he said softly.

Phil smiled and stepped forward to touch Clint’s cheek. “Both,” he said, his voice tight.

“I love you both,” they responded, and regretfully pulled apart to return to their lives as Agents Coulson, Barton, and Romanoff. Clint headed to one of the intel departments to assist in reading aerial photographs, leaving Natasha to resume establishing Natalie Rushman, and Phil to his reports.

Clint’s behavior bothered him – obviously bothered Natasha as well. He wished he could ask Gaia himself, but that was reserved for her Warriors and Druids. He considered sending a message to Catriona, but decided not to bother the druid with his concerns yet. Maybe Clint had just eaten too much sugar… or not enough.

Still, he kept one eye on an entirely unauthorized video feed of his husband, just in case the behavior persisted. There was no sign of it in Agent Barton’s interactions with the intel team – he discounted the usual flippant remarks, as they were not out of the ordinary – but still worried. It did remind him of Natasha’s erratic emotions as Midwinter drew nearer – but that had only lasted a few days.

Hadn’t it?

Litha was June 21 this year – he’d checked several astronomy websites and felt foolish the whole time – which was more than four weeks away. If he put this timeline next to Natasha’s behavior, he should have expected a change about November 20. He pulled up the mission reports from that time period, looking for anything that hinted that her own emotions had been affected that early. But then, would the differences between Yule and Litha – Midwinter and Midsummer – change how his achroi ghra reacted? Cursing, he pulled up another browser tab and did what he did best – research.

An hour later, he was considerably more educated in astronomy, astrology, neo-Druidism (which he thought would probably make Catriona howl with laughter), Wiccan sabbats, and the current practices of those who celebrated the solstices and equinoxes. Unfortunately, very little of it seemed to match up with what he knew from Catriona, and given his druthers he’d side with the actual druid on this one.

Rubbing his forehead, he reached into his desk drawer for a sachet of headache tea and paused. Was this a Gaia headache? How could he tell? It could just be the usual headache of a bureaucrat who’d been elbow deep in intel he didn’t understand – but how would he know for sure?

He brewed the tea anyway, figuring that regardless of what kind of headache it was, he wasn’t going to solve anything until it was at bay. Sitting back down at his desk, he pulled up last November’s mission reports again and began to read.

“Sir?” There was a polite knock against his open door, and he looked up to see Agent Summers standing there, looking unsure of her welcome. “Do you have a moment?”

“Of course,” he said automatically and rose to greet her. “Please, come in, Agent Summers. Close the door –” She’d shut it behind her before he could finish and he raised an eyebrow at her.

“Sensei, you look like hell,” she told him. She crossed his office, pushing lightly on his shoulder to get him to sit back down. Misty leaned over and sniffed his tea, folding her arms across her chest. “Headache?”

Idly Phil wondered when she’d appointed herself his caretaker, then realized it didn’t actually bother him – or surprise him. “Yes. It’s complicated.”

“It usually is. I’m guessing it’s got something to do with why Clint summoned me for dinner at the dojo?” She was eyeing him carefully, doing a visual inspection almost as intense as what Natasha gave him post-mission – though pre-marriage.

“Not directly,” he sighed. He wanted to keep his impenetrable Agent Coulson face on, but after the morning’s indulgence he was feeling uncomfortable in the role.

She moved to stand behind him, touching his shoulders lightly for permission before beginning a shoulder and neck massage that experience had taught them helped with the average headache. Between Catriona’s tea and Misty’s ministrations, he was feeling considerably more human. “What brings you to my office, young grasshopper?” he asked, when his shoulders felt like melted wax and the headache had receded.

Misty made a face at the nickname – although really, what did she expect when she called him sensei? He’d fallen back on a childhood favorite TV show for something appropriate. “Aside from curiosity about the dinner invite?”

“Yes.” He relaxed back into his chair, looking up at her now. Her face was serious, no hint of her usual banter. “What is it?”

“I heard a… rumor,” she began. “And it didn’t seem like something that should wait.” With a sigh, Phil gestured for her to continue. “Natasha’s going under cover at Stark Industries, right?” At Phil’s nod, she continued. “Scuttlebutt has it she’s going without backup. Not you, not Clint.” Misty squirmed a little. “According to – well, a lot of people – it’s because Fury doesn’t trust the three of you in the field.”

Phil’s eyebrows shot up. “You’re right, that shouldn’t wait. How widespread is this opinion?”

“Very,” Misty said firmly. “But I don’t get any hints about your –” she gestured at his wedding ring. “It’s more like, something has happened that means he doesn’t trust you anymore, or at least as much. Lots of different opinions about that.”

“Any you think have more traction than others?”

She blew out a breath, bangs fluttering. “Yeah.” He waited. “Apparently, he doesn’t like your mystery date.”

Phil managed – by sheer force of will – to keep the profanity internal rather than letting it spill out of his mouth. “Who’s ahead in the pool?” At her carefully blank look, he waved a hand. “Yes, I know all about the betting pools. Who is currently got the highest odds?”

“Most people think it’s someone from another agency, maybe one we don’t get along with… maybe not one of our allies.” She didn’t really want to answer him, but he’d given her the Sensei Says glare, and she knew better than to stop talking now. “On the plus side, the last time I heard Clint mentioned, the speaker was pelted with crackers for such a stupid idea.”

“Oh no, it makes far more sense I’d be sleeping with the enemy than with my husband,” Phil answered dryly. “Although, considering how Fury feels about Catriona…”

Misty blinked. “He thinks you’re sleeping with Catriona?” The idea was… absurd. Not just because she’d seen Phil, Clint and Natasha together but because Catriona wasn’t, as far as Misty could tell, sexual at all. She touched often, but it was the same kind of touch Misty’d use on a golden retriever. Soft, affectionate, and utterly without desire.

“I have slept with her – actual sleep. With and without my achroi ghra,” Phil admitted defensively, rubbing his face. “She has nightmares, flashbacks. Physical contact seems to prevent them.”

“Sensei.” At her tone, he looked up. “I don’t care if she parades naked in your living room, I would never suggest that there was anything between you and her but friendship. I’m not blind.”

“Sorry, grasshopper. I’m off my game.”

“I noticed.” She pursed her lips at him, thinking. “You want me to do anything about these rumors? Angie’s wicked good at passing them along. So is Alley Cat.”

Silently, Phil thanked the Goddess for the Scoobies, and for Misty in particular. He didn’t feel worthy of their personal loyalty, but he’d been granted it anyway. “What are your thoughts?” He knew she had some – she wouldn’t have suggested it otherwise.

Misty blew her bangs up again. “Well. How about confirming that your mystery date is male? It gets Catriona – and Natasha, for that matter – out of the running. It’ll confuse the hell out of the Director, and if we also kind of hint that the secrecy is because of gender and not some other reason… I mean, no one would expect you to come out of the closet, so the secrecy makes sense.”

“Someday,” Phil reminded her.

“Yeah, well, that ain’t today,” she snapped. He lifted an eyebrow at her tone. “Sorry. Sort of.” She squirmed a little before continuing. “Half the weird-ass suggestions are coming from the Scoobies. Chuckles looks at me funny when it comes up. His Marine superpowers tell him I know something.”

“Regardless of what Charles will have you believe, Marines do not have superpowers,” Phil reminded her with a smile. “Although my brother-in-law would be on his side.”

She shot him an irritated look. “I know that, damn it, but I’m still lying to my twic – it pisses me off.”

“Twic?”

“Blame Alley Cat. Writing ‘second-in-command’ or ‘2IC’ was apparently too much of a pain in the ass. Stop changing the subject.” She glared at him, a junior version of Natasha’s glare that made him want to smile again.

“We’ll talk about the Scoobies tonight, too,” Phil said with a sigh. “For now, I’ll agree… let it go around that my mystery date is a man, and that he – or I – or both – is still in the closet. That ought to at least cut some of the chatter.”

“Right then.” She stood straighter, then reached over to brush at the hair he’d disheveled in his frustration. “You look ruffled. You never look ruffled.”

“Agent Coulson doesn’t,” Phil agreed, and pulled out a hand mirror and comb to neaten his hair. “Phil does. Sensei does. Treorai definitely does.”

Misty watched him repair the damage to his appearance, thinking how difficult it must be to be all those people at once. “I’ll see you at dinner,” she told him finally, heading for the door.

“Misty?” His voice stopped her before she opened the office door. “Thank you.” He smile was heartfelt – so he hadn’t managed to tuck Phil away entirely yet.

“Anytime, sensei.” She opened the office door. “Thank you, sir,” she told him. “Do you want the door open or closed?”

“Open is fine, Agent Summers. Have a pleasant afternoon.”

~ * ~


	4. Chapter 4

Phil returned his attention to the pre-Yule mission reports, looking through them with a husband’s eye instead of a handler’s. He did remember that mission late November – Natasha had used tears to distract a guard where she generally would have used her sexuality, and Phil couldn’t remember if anything about that had struck him as odd at the time.

Then he flipped to the next one, and winced. Yeah. That one had been strange. Clint had been forced to physically restrain Natasha to keep her from continuing to pummel their downed suspect – a loss of control he didn’t think he’d seen in her in at least ten years. That hadn’t made it in the report – but the mention of ‘injuries sustained while resisting Agents’ triggered the memory.

Alright. So about a month before the anniversary of their Choosing, both his spouses got a little… moody. He could handle that.

Except that if it could cause someone of Natasha’s intense self-control to strike out in violence, burst out crying on an eleven-year-old, and then occupy her husbands in bed for the better part of a morning… he dreaded what it would do to Clint’s control. He was no pushover, but he was more relaxed than Natasha.

He groaned and buried his face in his hands. Finding out he’d be spending about a month every five months avoiding setting off potentially volatile emotions was not making the situation any less stressful. Particularly not when this month would involve Natasha being unavailable for an unknown length of time.

Another knock against his open door drew his attention – and it was considerably less polite than Misty’s had been. Phil stood, buttoning his suit jacket. “Director. What can I do for you?” If this was about those rumors, he’d have to tell Misty to pass on his thanks for the quick work.

“You alright, Phil?” Fury asked, and Phil thought it was genuine concern on his face.

“Yes, sir,” Phil said with a wan smile. “Banging my head against a mystery, but fine.” The exchange reminded him that at one time, he’d considered Fury a friend – considered him Nick, in fact. He wondered when that had changed.

“Got a minute?”

Phil gestured to the chairs in front of his desk. “I am at your disposal.”

The director closed the office door, sinking into one of the guest chairs and steepling his fingers in front of his face. “This conversation is off the record,” he began. “I’m not here.”

“In that case…” Phil reached into his desk and removed a bottle of scotch and two glasses. “Drink?”

Fury accepted gratefully and took the tumbler, turning it in his hand. “I’ve got a problem, Phil.”

“Alright. Problems are my specialty.” Phil sat back in his own chair, watching the director intently. “Is it one you can talk about?”

“Can, but shouldn’t.” Fury sipped the scotch, looking surprised. “Good stuff.”

“Gift from my brother-in-law,” Phil said easily. “Thom. You never mentioned you were related, boss.”

Fury snorted. “Hadn’t thought of it, until you went home for Christmas. Don’t see Thom any more, not since our grandfather passed.” He took another sip. “You’re not going to like this conversation, Phil.”

“I’d gathered that, when you used my first name,” Phil answered dryly. “Go ahead. I promise not to shoot you – immediately.”

“I know you had company, when you went home for Christmas. Agents Barton and Romanoff, and someone I suspect was the White Druid.” Fury fixed his eye on Phil. “Why?”

“Why what?” Phil’s voice was calm, though he was running at least a dozen possible answers through his head.

Fury grunted. “You know what. Why the witch?”

“She isn’t a witch.”

“Whatever the fuck you want to call her. Why?”

The third repletion of the word had considerably more force, and Phil decided he was pushing his luck to continue evading it. “Catriona is a friend.” At Fury’s continued glare, he continued. “I don’t know what happened between the two of you – and she won’t tell me – but she’s been nothing but helpful to me.”

“You Chosen?” Fury asked casually.

Phil snorted. “No.” He sipped his scotch. “I knew about her from Director Carter – former Director Carter. She’d let me read some of her journals, and she knew Catriona in the forties.” Truth – just not the whole truth.

Something in Fury relaxed, though whether it was Phil’s denial or his explanation wasn’t obvious. “Then why take her home? For that matter, why take Barton and Romanoff with you? I thought for damned sure you’d be taking this mystery lover of yours.”

“You trying to win the office pool?” Phil asked lightly. At the angry flare of Fury’s nostrils, he waved a hand and continued. “I can’t be… open… with my lover,” he said finally. He was going to have to walk a tight-rope here. He didn’t want to be forced to lie to Fury directly, but he also was not ready for the truth.

“You telling me you can’t be open with this mystery lover at your parents’ house, or at an LGBT inn?”

“I can… they can’t.” Also true. He’d chosen a pronoun that he meant as plural and Fury would interpret as singular – hopefully.

“Military?” Fury asked, though his tone had lost some of its harshness.

“Government. It would – be a career ender.” He said this as dispassionately as possible, trying desperately not to let his thoughts stray to – 

“Like Agent Price,” Fury said smoothly.

Phil looked away and swallowed. He took a deep drink from his tumbler and tried to compose his face. He wasn’t acting – it had been difficult enough to discuss Ken in the safety of his lovers’ arms – to do so in his office felt like being on public trial. “This means more,” Phil said finally. “This is… bigger than that, Nick.” The first name slipped out before he could restrain himself, but it seemed too personal of a conversation to use a title.

“Real deal?” Fury asked, voice impassive.

“Yes.” Under cover of his desk, Phil ran his thumb over his wedding band. “Someday, I hope that we can be open, but…”

Fury slugged back the last of his drink and set the empty tumbler on Phil’s desk. His voice was strangely gentle. “I hope so too.” Phil looked up at him, startled. “It would be nice if someone in this damned agency could have a normal relationship. Give hope to the rest of us.”

Phil couldn’t help but laugh, albeit weakly. “I wouldn’t go so far as to say normal.”

“If you need me to pressure some other agency over this, you let me know.”

“Thanks, Nick,” Phil said sincerely.

Fury walked to the door and had his hand on the knob before he asked, “You sure you’re not banging that witch?”

Phil snorted, which caused him to choke on the mouthful of scotch he’d taken. “Damn sure,” he said, coughing. “Not a chance of that ever happening, boss.”

“Good.”

~ * ~

By the time Phil got home, he felt like he’d run the obstacle course against the whole Scooby Squad and his spouses. He hung his suit jacket up neatly in the bedroom, shed his tie, and returned to the kitchen with his thoughts firmly on what he was planning to cook. He needed the distraction, desperately.

Natasha was seated at the breakfast bar, a cup of tea in her hand. “You look bushed, loverling,” she told him, snagging him as he passed so that he would give her a proper kiss.

“I am.” He rested his forehead against hers for a moment before moving to slip on his apron and begin setting ingredients out. In typical Natasha fashion, she’d pre-measured and pre-cut as much of it as he’d allow – all done before he arrived home, tucked back into cabinets and fridge so that her efforts were easily dismissed. As he removed a stack of bowls containing ingredients, carefully separated by layers of plastic wrap, he flashed her a smile of thanks. She shrugged it off, though he thought he saw a corner of her mouth twitch. He mixed and stirred, sauteed and sauced. The aroma of his stir-fry – which was never the same twice, but always delicious – filled the house.

The longer he cooked, the calmer he felt. By the time he was putting the finishing touches on dinner and sliding dessert into the oven, he felt balanced for the first time since… well, since he left that dressing room this morning.

“Lucy, I’m home!” Clint said from the front door. He threw his keys into a bowl on a nearby table and kicked off his shoes. “Look what followed me home, can we keep her?”

Misty trailed after him into the kitchen, her nose working appreciatively. “If you feed me like this, you can keep me however long you want,” she told Clint, grinning. 

“Duly noted,” Phil said with a smile – genuinely relaxed now, she could tell. “So. Where to start… rumors or vendettas?”

“Ah, hell.” Misty slumped onto the other stool, next to Natasha. “This is not going to be a fun conversation, is it?”

“No. I’ve had several less than fun conversations today – I’m sharing the wealth.” He offered Clint a taste from the spoon he was stirring the stir-fry with, and Clint made an agreeable noise.

“Delicious as always, Moonbeam,” Clint told him.

Misty’s eyebrows shot up. “So that’s the nickname I’m not allowed to use?”

Phil glared at Clint with mock ferocity. “See what you’ve done? I’ll never put the fear of Coulson back in her.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of fear of Coulson,” Misty assured him. “Phil, not so much.”

“Yeah, that’s the forbidden nickname,” Natasha agreed. She was looking at Clint carefully, in as unobtrusive a manner as possible. 

“Oh, I get it… Sunshine… uhh… forbidden name. Balance each other out. Cute, Clint.” Misty wrinkled her nose at him. “You cuddle, you use flowery nicknames. What next? Poetry? Love ballads?”

Clint threw a stray vegetable scrap at her, which hit her between the eyes. “I do not write poetry,” he said loftily.

Natasha snickered. “Hopeless romantic.”

“Evil minx.”

Phil rolled his eyes at both of them, hanging his apron up and handing Clint a bowl for each hand. “Go make yourself useful and set the table.” He handed Natasha plates and silverware, and another selection of items to Misty.

“Sir, yes, sir,” Clint said with a grin, disappearing into the dining room. Natasha raised an eyebrow at Phil before following.

Misty didn’t ask. She was curious – she kind of thought she spent half her time around these three stifling questions – but Phil’s expression wasn’t an invitation. She followed Natasha into the dining room, tucking cloth napkins next to plates and adding wine glasses to the table. Phil poured, something that smelled expensive to Misty’s uneducated nose, and gestured for them to sit.

“So,” Clint said as he passed Misty the rice. “Rumors or vendettas?”

“Or Litha,” Phil added. “Or the Scoobies.”

“I hope there’s more wine,” Misty murmured. Phil flashed her a smile. “Why don’t we go chronological by the day. First crap to come up?”

Phil coughed, and a blush hovered around his ears. “Vendetta, I think,” he managed, looking to Clint for confirmation.

“You know, for a super secret agent, your poker face about them sucks, sensei,” Misty told him. “I knew you looked ruffled.”

Clint took pity on his husband and ignored Misty’s comment. “I had a talk with Big Mama today, and Fury’s obsession with Catriona came up… it occurred to me that he might try DNA testing, if he finds another hair on one of us.”

Misty blinked. “And?”

“And that would be bad,” Natasha added, taking a bite of her dinner and making an appreciative noise. “Delicious as always, loverling.”

“So what am I supposed to do about it? Vacuum you off post visit?”

Clint snorted. “No.” He sipped the wine, using it to gesture to her. “Mama suggested you might be able to find us a friendly tech in the labs who could alert us if a two-thousand-year-old DNA sample was run through.”

“Uh… okay. Can we table that for after the Scoobies discussion?” Misty looked a little uncomfortable.

“Hell,” Phil grumbled. “Yes. In that case, I’m pulling rank and we’re talking about Litha next.”

“No rank in the house, Moonbeam,” Clint reminded him.

“Rank as your husband and the non-Chosen of the three of us, thank you,” Phil clarified. “And please stop calling me that in front of the grasshopper.” Clint opened his mouth to protest, or to tease, and Phil shook his head. “Please, Clint.” It was the second plea that had an impact – Clint closed his mouth and nodded.

“I don’t mind…” Misty said tentatively.

“I do.” Phil didn’t meet her eyes. “It’s… intimate. I’ve got issues. I’m already a little raw today, I’d rather not have that rubbing at me as well.”

“Sorry, treorai,” Clint said softly.

“I know.” Phil smiled at him, though Misty thought it was a little strained. “Which brings me to Litha.” At Misty’s raised eyebrow, he added, “Midsummer.”

“Like, the solstice? A month away?”

“Exactly.” Phil sighed. “Nat, do you remember that mission in Kansas, right after Thanksgiving?” She raised an eyebrow but nodded. “You remember feeling particularly violent that night?”

Natasha narrowed her eyes at him. “You know I was.”

“I think that you started having Yule symptoms then… and I think Clint is having Litha symptoms now.”

“Wait, is this like when you tried to bite me for having absolutely no designs on your man, back at Easter?” Misty asked, incredulous. 

Phil shook his head. “Not exactly the same, but similar.”

Clint had set his fork down and was glaring at his husband. “You think this is… what did you call them, Nat? Psychic mood swings? Now?”

“I do.”

Natasha winced and dug one finger into her temple. “Dearling, please stop yelling. He has several good points.”

“I’m not yelling!” he bellowed.

“Um. Maybe I should, like, step into the kitchen?” Misty offered, half-rising. “This is… private.”

“You’re damned right it is,” Clint began, rising as well.

Phil waved both his hands to forestall them. “Please. This is…” he rubbed his forehead, and Clint’s anger dissipated. “This could affect all of us, and the Scoobies.”

“Headache?” Clint asked quietly.

“Edging up on one. Second one today, and no – you don’t need to call Catriona. I’m pretty sure this one is stress.” Phil offered him a wan smile. “Look, I’m not bringing it up just for laughs, pretty bird. This could be serious. If it plays out like Natasha at Yule, we’re looking at you dealing with some powerful emotions, and I’ll be having headaches. You didn’t have any real symptoms until the day of, so Natasha is probably fine, but… what if we have to go out in the field?”

Clint had swung from intense anger to deep worry to confusion to – “Well, fuck. You’re right.” He slumped in his hair. “It’s like puberty – everything is so damned intense.”

“Puberty for me included assassinations,” Natasha murmured. “It’s no wonder I didn’t make the connection.”

“Um.” Misty had sat back down, but was still fidgeting uncomfortably. “If the Scoobies knew what was going on, we’d be able to help.” Three pairs of eyes fixed on her, and she gave a one-shouldered shrug. “It’s on the list. I mean, of topics tonight. I don’t like lying to my men – and I think we could help. With more than just finding a lab tech or spreading rumors.”

“Speaking of rumors, pass my thanks on to Angie and Alley Cat, because I got a visit from the Director not even two hours after your plot went into effect,” Phil said, toasting her with his wine glass. 

“What rumors?” Clint asked, his voice dangerously low.

“What plot?” Natasha added.

“Rumors first,” Phil decided, and gestured at Misty. “She came to me with some troubling gossip, and a few suggestions as to how to deal with it.”

Misty blew out a breath, fluttering her bangs. “I can be blunt, right? I mean, I know I don’t exactly watch my language when the door’s shut but –”

“Hit us with it,” Clint said, making a ‘go ahead’ gesture.

“And no consequences on my men?”

Phil felt a twinge of pride. “No consequences for your squad mates – men or women.” He raised an eyebrow at her lack of proper gender neutrality.

She waved that away. “Angie and Sam know they’re my men, female or not. Anyway.” She blew out another breath and readied her words. “You know Alley Cat hears like, all the gossip. You have no idea how popular it is to gossip in another language, thinking you’re safe. We’re a freaking spy organization, you’d think they’d realize other people speak it,” Misty said derisively. Clint snorted. “Anyway. He came to me with a… question. He’d heard some things, and he wanted me to confirm or deny.” She picked at the food on her plate. “He asked if Romanoff was going into SI alone, no backup. I said yes. He asked if that was unusual, and I told him yeah, usually she’s got Barton as overwatch and Coulson as her handler. Then he got kind of twisty and asked if separating the unholy trio – his term, not mine – was Fury’s way of punishing AC for banging the wrong broad.” She held up her hands defensively. “His words. Not mine. And I just kind of stared at him, because that was one of the dumbest ideas I’d heard in a while, and he said he’d heard – he didn’t tell me where, ‘cause he’s like that – that AC was dating somebody on SHIELD’s radar in a bad way – he’d heard a rival agency, or maybe one of our enemies.” She hunched her shoulders, expecting angry exclamations, and peeked out through her bangs when there was only silence.

Clint’s mouth was hanging open, and he’d extended one hand to Natasha, gripping it tightly. Natasha had reached for Phil’s as well. “I have seriously underestimated you,” Clint told Misty finally. His voice was surprisingly calm, and Misty looked at him in shock. “They’ve been your squad for less than six months, and they already trust you with their careers.”

“See why I had to have her?” Phil murmured to his husband. “I had to fight Hill for her. Maria wanted you,” he told Misty. “She’s got plans to put an all-female squad together.”

“It’ll fail,” Natasha predicted. “Balanced is better.” She squeezed both her husbands’ hands.

“Um. None of you seem as upset about this as I expected.”

“I already had my explosion,” Phil reminded her.

Both her eyebrows shot up. “If that was an explosion, I’d really, really hate to see you actually let loose.” Natasha and Clint laughed quietly. “Look, Alley Cat didn’t really believe the rumors but… they must be common, for him to bring them to me. I’ve heard something similar from Angie, except she’d heard that it was Natasha you were banging – sorry – and that’s why Fury separated you.”

“You didn’t tell me that part,” Phil protested.

“I didn’t? Well, that’s why I made the suggestion. I mean, it wasn’t just that, but…”

Clint knocked back the rest of the wine in his glass. “So, what was this suggestion? I assume that’s the plot you meant?”

Misty sank farther down into her chair. “Yeah. I suggested we let it be known that Mystery Date was male, and that he and AC were closeted hard. Sensei agreed, so I told Angie and Alley Cat… and then the Director heard it.”

“He was actually almost sympathetic,” Phil said, still sounding surprised. “Asked if there were any agencies he needed to lean on.” Clint snorted. “But as he was leaving, he sprung ‘you sure you’re not banging that witch’ on me, presumably to catch me off guard. It did, but I am pretty sure my ‘Hell no’ was accepted.”

“Did you lie to him?” Natasha asked carefully. “About us?”

Phil laughed. “No. I danced very carefully over the truth. Good thing that the neutral form of “he” and “she” is “they”, and can be plural.”

“Sneaky bastard,” Clint said fondly.

“So if the Scoobies saved the day with some quick rumor milling… you think they should know the truth?” Natasha asked Misty.

“I think we could help you more. I think it’s a breach of trust, for me to know and not them. I think I hate lying to my men. And I think you should let me tell them, privately.” Misty managed to get all of that out clearly, though she was fighting with herself to be that honest – and disrespectful – to her training officers.

Phil used his free hand to rub at his face, though he shook his head at Clint’s worried look. “No headache. Just thinking.” His spouses were quiet, their own opinions flashing back and forth telepathically. “Why do you think you should tell them?” he asked Misty, curious as to her reasoning.

“For starters, I need to grovel for lying to them,” she growled. “And I want to do it off the clock and off the premises.”

“You shouldn’t have to grovel for following orders,” Clint protested.

Phil shot him a quelling glare. “They weren’t orders. We asked her, as a friend, to keep a secret. That’s different.”

“The Scoobies won’t know that.”

Natasha snorted. “Yeah, sure they won’t. They already know something’s up.” At Phil’s questioning tug of her hand, she explained. “Apparently, it’s notable that I know what kind of tea Misty likes.”

Misty groaned. “Damn it.”

“It’s not your fault,” Natasha assured her. “I didn’t realize I’d done it, or that people would notice. Lancelot mentioned it at mess one day.”

“Slow on his feet, but not on his brain,” Clint agreed. “I still don’t think you should have to grovel, Misty. We asked you to do this – you could have said no.” At her incredulous stare, he shrugged. “Okay, so it’s tough to say no to Phil, but…”

“How about if we tell them, all four of us, let them ask some questions, and then we three will head out?” Phil offered. “That way, they know we asked you to keep it secret – they get a chance to ask us the embarrassing things they’ll immediately want to know – and then you can apologize in private once we’ve left.”

Misty bit her lip. It was a good compromise. Despite Clint’s objections, she knew that Phil agreed with her assessment – she owed her men for keeping this from them, even if they’d accept she was under orders. “Deal. If you bring baked goods.”

Phil grinned. “You just want cookies.”

“It’ll help humanize you, loverling,” Natasha murmured. “You’re larger-than-life here.”

“I’ll settle for brownies,” Misty said, ignoring Natasha’s comment. “Food helps shock, right?”

Phil rubbed a circle in his temple. “When do you want to do this?”

Misty looked at her watch – already too late to do it tonight. “Tomorrow? After hours?”

“Alright. I’m not inviting them all here,” Phil told her. “This is our home.”

“I’ve got a pad,” Misty assured him. “The Scoobies have hung out there before. I’ll put the word out.” She rattled off the address to Natasha, who nodded that she knew it. “Thanks, guys. Really.” Misty kept her eyes trained on the table and her half-eaten dinner. “I know I’m asking a lot.”

“You’re not,” Phil said quietly. “You’re offering their help and support, and you’re trying to be an honest leader. I wouldn’t expect anything else, grasshopper.”

~ * ~


	5. Chapter 5

“This could go terribly, spectacularly wrong,” Clint said, much later, as the three of them were curled up in bed. “This could be a clusterfuck of Budapest-ian proportions.”

“Or it could be a blessing,” Phil reminded him. “Misty has Gaia’s favor.”

“The rest of them don’t.” Clint burrowed closer to Phil, feeling Natasha tighten her grip around his own waist as well. “I hate not knowing how much of this worry is reasonable and how much is Goddess fueled.”

“How much are we going to tell them, about Her?” Natasha asked. “I know we’re telling them about us, but…”

Phil tightened his arm around Clint’s shoulders, using the thumb on that hand to stroke Natasha’s skin where she pressed up against Clint. “I don’t know how we can avoid telling them about Her. They need to understand your bond, and being Chosen – and the potential complications of the solstices.”

Clint growled. “You mean us losing our heads.”

“And my headaches, pretty bird,” Phil added gently. He didn’t want his husband to think he was going to lay blame here, or point to Clint as the only one affected. 

“Are we sure it’s a good idea to do this now? Before Litha?” Natasha asked.

Clint shuddered under their touch. “No. It’s probably not. But waiting would be worse. Misty’s right, they could be helping – if they knew. And are willing.”

“Does anyone else feel strange telling the Scoobies before we tell Maria?” Phil pondered. There was silence, broken by Clint’s sigh. “I know. I don’t want to tell her either. But she’s going to be upset.”

“She’s going to be pissed,” Natasha agreed. “But… I’m not ready to… the Scoobies are ours, treorai.”

He nodded. In a way he couldn’t articulate, he understood what she meant. He’d hand selected seven of them, and the eighth had been selected by Misty and Charles. He’d overseen as much of their training personally as he could manage, including doing paperwork while watching them on the obstacle courses or in the shooting ranges. Phil had a proprietary interest in them beyond the affection he felt for Misty.

“We should change first,” Clint said into the dark. “Tomorrow night, before we go over. Wear civvies. I think you were right, Sunshine – it did help Misty understand us.”

“Only if you promise not to call me Moonbeam in front of the Scoobies,” Phil said. He tried to sound firm but there was pleading in his tone that Clint couldn’t ignore.

Clint placed a kiss in the crook of Phil’s neck where he’d buried his head. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize…”

“You said earlier that you were raw today, loverling,” Natasha began, reaching over Clint to put a hand on Phil’s. “What brought that on?”

Phil kissed the top of Clint’s head to steady himself. “Fury brought up Ken.” It was easier, in the dark of their bedroom, to say the name. Still, it came out as a harsh whisper.

“Bastard,” Clint growled. “He’s got no right…”

“Please.” Phil tightened the arm around Clint. “Don’t. It wasn’t – he wasn’t – he was trying to understand.”

“He knew?” Natasha asked neutrally. Phil nodded, glad it was a question he didn’t have to struggle to find words for. “And he’s never used it against you?”

“No.” Phil did manage that syllable aloud, and took a moment to try and settle his breathing. “He used to be my friend, love. He helped, as much as he could.” He wondered again when that had changed – when he’d stopped looking at Fury as a friend, and began seeing him only as a boss, or at worst an enemy.

Clint levered himself up on one arm, dislodging Natasha, and looked down at Phil. “Just a friend?” Clint asked, eyes locked on Phil’s.

Phil rolled his eyes in response. “Just friends.” He pulled at Clint to lie back down. “He’s not my type. And I was very strongly disinclined to date an agent again.”

Resisting the pull, Clint rose to his knees, straddled Phil and crossed his arms. He was probably trying to look intimidating, but he looked petulant instead. “You told us no one else knew about him. How’d Fury find out? Did you tell him?” Phil looked up at his husband and sighed. He reached across for Natasha who nestled into the spot Clint had vacated.

“Did you think that shootout happened in a vacuum? Fury was there.” Phil had to swallow against the memories, images still too fresh. “I fell apart, and he held it together. Held me together, really.”

“Well, fuck.” Clink sank down until he was sitting on Phil’s thighs. “I don’t want to have to be grateful to the bastard for that.”

That forced a low laugh out of Phil. “Sorry.”

~ * ~

Natasha’s last day of SHIELD duties – tomorrow she would be Natalie Rushman full-time – dragged on interminably. Tonight’s Scooby confrontation – and it being the last night she’d spend at home with husbands for who knew how long – had her as tense as one of Clint’s bowstrings… and not nearly as functional. 

She’d been doing her best to keep her distress shielded from Clint; as their bond had grown, Gaia had shown them techniques to keep their thoughts separate. He didn’t need the extra stress.

Apparently, however, he knew her better than that. She’d just sat down at a table in the mess when he appeared with a tray already loaded – with exactly what she usually chose for comfort food. He put it and a cup of tea in front of her, sliding onto the bench across the table. “Wanna talk about it?” he said aloud.

“I don’t like going under without cover,” she admitted. Surreptitiously she glanced around the room and noticed several sets of ears swiveled in her direction.

“I’m not crazy about you doing it either, partner, but I can’t say that it sounds all that dangerous.” He slid a knife out of a pocket – Clint had so many she couldn’t remember which one held the knife – and used it to clean his nails. “Stark’s insane, but I think it’s more the Vincent Van Gogh than Charles Manson kind.”

Natasha rolled her eyes. “Van Gogh cut off his own ear.”

“Exactly.”

She nodded into her mashed potatoes. “Alright. I’ll give you that.” Their audience hadn’t shrunk, so she continued to play along. “Take care of AC for me, will you? He won’t eat or sleep if one of us doesn’t nag him.”

“I’ll promise food or sleep, but not both.”

“Fair.” She continued working through the tray, wondering how else she could stretch this conversation – they were barely minutes in and she was already chafing at the artificial dialogue. 

“So, did you hear the latest? Top bet right now is that AC’s Mystery Date is a fed. Man in black.” Clint waggled his eyebrows ludicrously and Natasha threw a balled-up napkin at him.

“My money’s still on some pretty little civilian girl,” she answered placidly. She had placed that bet, hiding her laughter the whole time and not caring that she was going to lose the money.

Clint chuckled. “You just like to think of AC as a sugar daddy.”

Thankfully, Natasha had already swallowed her mouthful of tea when he said that, and she stared daggers at him. “I sure as hell don’t.”

They chatted about the upcoming mission and Clint’s plans – which included his “patented B3 remedy” which was short for beer, burger, and bimbo. By the time she’d mowed through her lunch, attention had shifted off of them and back onto more interesting gossip.

Natasha returned the tray to the catering department with a nod of thanks. “How about if I kick your ass in the ring a few times today, before I have to become a delicate civilian?” Natasha suggested.

“You got it.” Clint gestured for her to lead, falling in one step behind her as was his habit. {You sure you’re up for sparring? You’re blocking be pretty well, but I know you’re tense.}

She glanced back at him over her shoulder and sighed. There were wonderful advantages to their bond – and then there were inconveniences, like not being able to protect him from her own mood. {Probably not. I just need to do something.}

{Why don’t you ask Phil if you can cut out early? Go home, put a pan of brownies in, change clothes – have a glass of wine.} He stepped in front of her to open the door to the combat gym – a move he continued to do in front of others because it annoyed her.

Natasha scanned the occupants of the room, seeing some familiar agents but not the Scoobies. {Can I knock you on your ass at least once first?}

“Your wish is my command,” he said aloud, with an elaborate bow and gesture towards the locker rooms. “I’m going to go change. Back in five.” She changed as well, slipping on her current favorite workout gear of black tank top with built-in support bra and bright purple leggings. 

It probably shouldn’t surprise her just how much of her wardrobe had become purple, over the last year.

“Are we going full out?” Clint asked as he stepped into the combat ring. He’d put on black pants and a red tank top – one that matched the red detailing on Natasha’s field suit.

She glanced around, trying to determine if there was anyone here who would be suspicious about their skill level. “Yeah. I need to get out of my head.”

Clint grinned. “I can do that.” Then, without warning, he lunged.

It was always a challenge, sparring with Clint – because she had to focus not only on her body, but on keeping him out of her mind so that he did not know her next moves. That was something she only had to use with him, and it added a level of complexity to their matches that they both enjoyed. Soon, both were sweating through their clothes but grinning. As their movements became more complex and they pulled more of Gaia’s gifts into the bout, a crowd began to gather. Natasha didn’t notice them immediately – she was preoccupied with a very effective technique of Clint’s with involved subvocalizing an incredibly annoying song to get her off track – but after she’d dumped him on his back, there was a round of applause and she looked up, surprised.

“And that, my ducklings, is what it looks like when two experts go at it,” one of the other training agents was saying to his recruits. He turned towards the ring again and offered a casual but respectful salute. “Barton. Romanoff.”

Clint could guess from his presence that his team was scheduled for the ring now, and this was Agent Verley’s way of politely asking them to vacate. Clint grabbed a towel and started wiping the sweat off his face as Natasha slipped lithely out of the ring and came to stand next to the recruits. “Any of you game to try me?” she asked, taking a drink from the water bottle Clint threw her.

“Not a chance in hell,” one of them answered cheerfully. “I like all my body parts where they are, thank you.” Clint snickered.

“I’m going to check in with Agent Coulson, see if he needs me for anything else,” Natasha told Clint as the rookies readied for their session, many still listening. “Otherwise I’m going to go home and do some chores before I move into the cover apartment tomorrow.”

“Have fun. I’ve got more aerial photographs to scrutinize,” he said with an exaggerated sigh. 

~ * ~


	6. Chapter 6

By the time her achroi ghra joined her at home, Natasha had baked two pans of brownies (using a recipe out of Phil’s battered family cookbook) and a double batch of snickerdoodles. She’d changed clothes, done her hair and makeup, and was now eying her fingernails, debating whether Natalie Rushman would wear purple polish, or if she should go for something more subtle.

Phil breathed deeply as he entered the kitchen, catching her around the waist for a sweet, tender kiss. “If I’d known you were just going to come home and bake yourself into a frenzy, I’d have made you stay and do paperwork with me,” he murmured in her ear.

“Sorry.” She molded herself against him, hearing Clint come in as well. He tucked himself behind her. “This seemed like a good idea yesterday, but now I really just want to stay home with you two.”

“I know,” Phil agreed. “I do too. But we need to do this.”

“I’m going to go change,” Clint told them. “Misty’s going to text when everyone is at her apartment.” Phil nodded his acknowledgement, still cradling Natasha.

She’d changed into something black and purple – and her peekaboo toed shoes showed off her purple toenails. Phil ran a hand down her back. “You look lovely.”

“You’re biased.”

Phil chuckled and she felt his chest vibrate, bouncing her head where it rested against him. “Yes I am. Unreservedly.” He squeezed her gently. “Do you need any help here, or should I change as well?”

“Go change,” she told him. “I laid out an outfit for you.”

He didn’t roll his eyes, but she poked him in the side anyway. He held up his hands defensively. “I’m going, and I’ll wear whatever her majesty commands.” Phil tossed that comment over his shoulder as he trotted up the stairs to their bedroom.

Clint was just fastening the last button on a blue shirt that paired nicely with his jeans – jeans that made Phil pause to admire his husband for a moment. Clint raised an eyebrow at him. “Like what you see?”

“Always, pretty bird.” Phil crossed the room in two strides to land a firm, possessive kiss on Clint’s lips. “What has our little spider picked out for me tonight?” Clint gestured, and Phil rolled his eyes. Of course – if Natasha was in purple and Clint in blue, that meant Phil was in red. There were jeans – Clint and Natasha’s favorite pair on him – and a t-shirt that bore a Star Trek logo on the front and ‘Expendable’ on the back. “Really?” Phil protested as he examined the shirt. “You two get to look like fashion plates, and I get to dress like I’m going to a comic con?”

“You in a suit is not unusual, Moonbeam,” Clint reminded him. “You in jeans and a t-shirt is really going to tell the Scoobies that this isn’t business as usual.”

Damn. He hated it when they were right. Grumbling, he changed into the clothes, pulling at the fabric of the t-shirt. “It’s a little tight,” he complained.

Clint stepped back and licked his lips. “Oh no. It’s perfect. Goddess, you’re gorgeous.” He crossed to his husband and reached around, slipping his hands into Phil’s back pockets. “These pants should be illegal.”

Phil playfully pushed at him, unable to dislodge the archer. They’d worked into a good teasing match when Natasha called up the stairs, “Showtime.” Clint released Phil and they walked downstairs, each grabbing one of the plates of desserts.

They didn’t take Lola – she was too highly visible – but one of Natasha’s private vehicles held under a pseudonym. When they reached Misty’s apartment building, Phil turned off the ignition and sat for a moment, just breathing. “Everybody ready?”

Clint grabbed baked goods and beer. “Ready as I’ll ever be.” Natasha didn’t say anything but did pick up her plates of cookies. Phil tucked the bottle of wine under his arm and took the last plate of brownies, locking the car behind them.

They walked up the four flights of stairs to Misty’s apartment. Phil juggled his burdens around enough to knock on the door, and Misty opened it immediately. “Thank goodness,” she murmured. “I was beginning to think you’d chickened out.”

“The thought did occur to us,” Phil admitted dryly. “Where is everyone?”

“Follow me.”

They did, into a somewhat cramped living room – cramped only because there were seven people already in it, and their entrance made it a total of eleven in a room which was probably designed to hold four at most. Phil set the bottle of wine down on a coffee table and uncovered the plate of brownies in his hand. Clint put down the beer he was carrying as well as his brownie burden, and Natasha presented the plates of snickerdoodles – all to an absolutely silent audience.

“Sir?” Charles finally said.

“Not sir right now,” Phil said, flashing a smile. Charles looked taken aback. “I’m not here on official business. As a matter of fact, this is so far removed from official business that it might as well be extraterrestrial.”

“Use your little words, treorai,” Natasha murmured. She sat down on the edge of the coffee table and crossed her legs, bringing her purple toenails to the attention of Angie, who was closest. “They’ve had enough of a shock.”

“They’ll get more of one,” Clint muttered, but sank down to sit in front of Natasha, one hand looped around her ankle. Phil joined Clint on the floor, on Natasha’s other side, and there were several sets of very surprised eyes fixed on their handler.

“So.” Misty cleared her throat. “God, I never thought I’d say this but… I bet you’re wondering why I called you all here today.” Someone chuckled, though Natasha wasn’t sure who.

“Wait. I need more beer for this.” CJ levered himself out of the couch and stepped into the kitchen. “Anyone else?” He filled hands and elbow with the requested drinks and returned, handing them out. “Okay. Hit us, Buff.”

“I lied to you, Alley Cat, this morning,” Misty began. She held up a hand to stall his protest. “I lied to Angie, and I’ve lied to the rest of you, at least by omission, for the past couple of months. I did it because sensei – Agent Coulson – asked me to, on a personal level. He trusted me with something very private, and I kept his secret. Now things have gotten to a point where he needs more help than I can give him alone, so I asked if I could please tell my squad and not have to lie anymore.” She gestured to the triad. “So here we are.”

“For tonight, call me Phil,” he told them. “Clint and Natasha as well. What we need your help with isn’t – it’s not SHIELD business.” Phil wrapped his hand over Clint’s, which put him in contact with Natasha as well. “When Misty told you that my Mystery Date was male, she was half right. Natasha, Clint and I are in a committed relationship, and have been for almost a year. We consider it a marriage, though it isn’t legally recognized.” He held up his hand, and there were surprised looks from those who’d never noticed the wedding ring before. “We’re breaking SHIELD policy to do it, and I don’t give a damn.”

“Easy, treorai,” Natasha murmured. To the rest, she said, “What he means is that this is more important to us than SHIELD, but we are not ready to walk away from the agency yet. There will come a time when we have to, because we have divided loyalties.”

“We don’t serve just SHIELD,” Clint picked up, ignoring the suddenly wary looks on their faces. “We also serve Gaia, the Great Mother, Goddess of the Earth. Natasha and I are both Chosen Warriors – which basically means that we were saved from death by a supernatural being, and offered jobs serving that being. Our obligation to Gaia has not yet come into conflict with our obligation to SHIELD, which is why we haven’t made any plans to leave.”

“Being Chosen also gives us some gifts. Enhanced speed and agility, healing – and Clint and I have a telepathic bond to each other and to Gaia. Phil isn’t Chosen, so he doesn’t have the telepathy… although for as often as you know what I’m thinking, I wouldn’t be at all surprised if She slipped that to you when none of us were looking.”

Phil chuckled, smoothing his thumb down her calf. “Our relationship is one reason for this meeting; their bond to Gaia is another. The third is Catriona.”

“Lady Catriona Alanna O’Clare, The White Druid, High Priestess of Gaia,” Natasha elaborated. “It was she who healed our wounds – and believe me when I say that we would not have survived without her intervention. She has become a friend, but she and Director Fury… don’t get along.”

Clint snorted. “That’s kind of like saying that Mount Vesuvius erupted ‘a little.’ Fury can’t stand her, and he accuses her of anything he thinks he can blame on her – and he keeps accusing Phil of sleeping with her.”

“That’s why I told you that the Mystery Date was male,” Misty took over. “I had hoped that would stop Director Fury from targeting Catriona. Unfortunately, that meant lies – and I’m tired of lying to you guys. Hence the meeting.”

When Misty finished, there were a few seconds of quiet before several of the Scoobies began speaking at once. Phil poured wine into a red Solo cup – it was all that was within reach – and sipped it, watching the team argue. Natasha was absently running her hands through the hair of both her husbands. When the furor died down, Misty sat down on the coffee table next to Natasha. “Let’s campfire. I’ll start. I’m sorry I lied. I didn’t do it to hurt any of you – I did it to protect my friends.” She pointed leftwards, where Lance was nursing a beer.

“I’m not mad,” he assured her. “As a matter of fact, I’m damned pleased with myself. I had guessed it was a threesome weeks ago, but the probability was so low that I couldn’t even get the bookie to take my bet. Too bad, too. I could have cleaned up.”

Doc was next, and he looked shaken. “I… this is… almost a year? You’ve kept this a secret for almost a year? How? You’re wearing rings. Surely other people know. This is some kind of hazing ritual.”

“It isn’t,” Phil assured him quietly. “Gaia made our rings difficult to see. Misty is the first person to notice them without being told about them. That’s why I told her.”

“Still, it’s very… fantastical. I’m not sure I believe it. Telepathy? An earth goddess? A high priestess? Are you sure you didn’t put on Lord of the Rings and spike the beer with LSD?”

Alley Cat was glowering at Misty. “You lied to me. To my face,” he growled.

“Yes, I did,” she answered calmly. “And I probably would again. I’m not sorry that I protected my friends. I am sorry that I had to hurt other friends to do it.”

“I’m just fucking relieved you three aren’t here to tell us the squad is breaking up,” Angie said fervently. “When all three of you walked in, carrying comfort food, I was afraid we were being fired.” She leaned forward and grabbed a brownie. “Illicit hanky panky and strangely powerful beings I can handle. Being booted to the curb, not so much.”

Sam shrugged. “I’m just jealous you landed two hot guys, Agent Rom—Natasha. You could have at least saved one for us.”

“Sorry,” Natasha said with a twist of her lips. “Acres and acres, and it’s all mine.” Sam mimed throwing a pillow at her, but didn’t actually launch it.

CJ had been conspicuously silent, glaring at the triad until Clint swore he could feel the sharpshooter’s gaze. “So you’re going to endanger our careers just for, what, a hot piece of ass?” Someone protested, but CJ’s eyes were fixed on the triad. “You want to fuck up your lives with polygamy, be my fucking guest. You’ll have my silence because I owe it to Agent Coulson, but you don’t have my support.”

Charles cleared his throat in the silence that followed that. “Which one of them is the hot piece of ass?” he asked, in a tone that was probably meant to be jocular but which was pushing all the wrong buttons. “I mean, I’m sure Clint’s got great muscle control, but Natasha’s got those deadly thighs – I don’t know that I’d want to put my—”

Clint moved so fast that neither Natasha nor Phil could stop him. He lifted Charles up by the neck, slamming him against the nearest wall with enough force to rattle the picture frames. “Don’t you ever speak about my wife that way again,” Clint told him, voice deadly quiet.

“Clint.” Phil stood and stepped carefully to where the large ex-Marine was pinned by the archer. “Clint, he didn’t mean anything by it. Let him go.” Charles was struggling to breath, one hand wrapped around Clint’s wrist in mute entreaty. “If you kill my rookie, Fury won’t give me another one,” Phil continued.

With a curse, Clint released Charles, who slid down the wall onto the ground. “Holy shit.” Charles rubbed at his neck, looking up at Clint with new respect. “Jesus, you’re holding back in the ring.”

Clint ignored the ex-Marine, turning his body into Phil’s and burrowing his face into the familiar shoulder. Phil murmured soothing nothings as Natasha joined them. Doc stepped close enough to check Charles for injuries, but all eyes were on the triad.

“Sorry,” Clint managed. He had peeled one arm off of Phil and wrapped it around Natasha, pulling her until she was shielded from the rest of the room by his and Phil’s bodies. “I didn’t –”

Natasha ran a soothing hand down his arm. “No permanent damage, dearling,” she said quietly. “Except perhaps to his ego.”

“Great Good Goddess, I’m sorry,” Clint said again, his voice muffled in Phil’s shoulder.

Several of the team members – CJ included – had taken their preoccupation as a chance to escape to the kitchen. With the living room emptier, Phil was able to coax Clint into releasing him and Natasha, and eased him down onto the couch next to Lance. Natasha gave up discretion and sat on Clint’s lap, letting him pull her closer. There was a fine tremor in his muscles, the aftereffect of adrenaline.

“I’m sorry, Chuckles,” Clint managed to say after a few deep breaths pressed into Natasha. “I should have realized you were teasing.”

“Don’t worry about it.” Charles had managed to get himself up and into a chair, watching the archer carefully. “This part of the Chosen thing?”

“Sort of.” Clint kept his face hidden against Natasha’s dress. “I’ve got the emotional control of a four-year-old who needs a nap right now. It’s tied to a druidic holiday. Nat’s happened at Yule – midwinter – so you guys missed out on that fun.”

“Parts of it were fun,” Phil reminded him. He had knelt in front of Clint, one hand on his knee and the other on Natasha’s waist. “Don’t tell me you’ve forgotten.”

“No.” Clint sighed. “I wish we’d thought to have Catriona leave some of that tea,” he grumbled.

“Tea?” Misty asked as she reentered the living room. Clint hadn’t noticed her leaving, but she returned with a tray holding a teapot and several mugs. “It’s not Catriona’s, but it’s still tea.”

Phil smiled at her. “You learn fast, young grasshopper.”

Misty rolled her eyes. The members of her squad still in the living room hid their smiles. “Come on, have a cup of this and then go home.” She passed Clint a mug, making sure it was firmly in his grasp before she let go. “I’ve got some damage control to deal with, so I’m going to have to leave you to your spouses,” she told Clint, with an affectionate squeeze of his shoulder. “Try not to beat up on my men any more, I need them to pass the physicals.” She disappeared back into the kitchen, and Clint took a long drink of the hot tea.

“Do you want me to call Catriona?” Natasha asked quietly.

“No.” He stared into the mug as though it held the answers to the universe. “I just want to go home and make love to our wife, before she turns into someone I don’t know.”

Phil squeezed the knee he still held. “We can manage that.” As Clint finished the tea, Phil deftly transferred cookies and brownies off his plates and on to Misty’s. “We’re heading out,” Phil told Misty when he passed her in the kitchen. “Call if you need anything… but try not to,” he said with a small smile.

“Thanks, sensei.” She hugged him – a spontaneous gesture that might have surprised her squadmates more than the triad’s relationship, and Phil went back out to the living room to collect his husband and wife.

~ * ~


	7. Chapter 7

The moment the door shut behind their superior officers, the Scoobies began talking – and yelling – at Misty. She banged her head against the doorframe between kitchen and living room, and when that didn’t result in a reaction, she whistled piercingly. “That’s enough! We are grown SHIELD agents, not fussy children!” The rebuke worked, though Alley Cat continued to grumble. “Damn it, I’m doing the best I can,” she told them, her throat tight. “I told you as soon as I could.”

“They shouldn’t have put you in that position,” Alley Cat argued. “They had no right to ask that of you.”

“Did you not catch the part where I could see their rings? I fucking asked. I walked into Coulson’s office, blathered about how demoralizing it was that we could never beat Romanoff or Barton, and then I asked about his ring. I put myself in that damned position.” Misty was frustrated and nursing a headache. She grabbed a brownie and another beer, sinking into her favorite armchair. “Now that I’ve seen it, I can’t believe I missed it for so long. Jesus, when Sensei looks at them, there might as well be little hearts floating over his head.”

“Why do you call him that?” Angie asked.

Misty sighed and took another bite of brownie. “I have an ex named Phil. I can’t… I can’t call him that. We played around with nicknames until that one stuck. They have ridiculous nicknames for each other, too, but Natasha gave me the same look she gave Harding when he took the last raspberry tart – no freaking way am I repeating them.”

Doc still looked confused, but CJ was radiating an anger that she didn’t think was a result of being lied to. She wanted to take him aside and talk to him, but couldn’t figure out how to do it without being obvious. Instead, the sharpshooter drank another beer and glowered from the corner. A quote from Beowulf popped into her head – ‘his eyes gleamed in the darkness, burned with a gruesome light.’ Misty shuddered and resolutely looked away from him.

“If she’s enhanced the same way Clint is, I don’t blame you,” Charles said, rubbing his throat. “Jesus, I’ve never seen anyone move that fast – and he lifted me up like I weighed nothing.”

“She is enhanced,” Misty agreed. “You should see the two of them go at it, no holds barred. Sensei told me he records the bouts and has to play them at half or three quarter speed to be able to see what’s going on.”

Charles whistled. “Damn. No wonder they told us not to expect to match them.”

“So the magic hoodoo that makes them good agents should excuse them for breaking the fraternization rules?” Alley Cat demanded. “Because they’ve got some kind of… of… agility buff, they get a free pass?”

“No.” Misty looked down into her lap. “They get a pass from me because they’re the first SHIELD agents I’ve ever seen in a halfway healthy relationship. I need that. I need to know that it’s possible.”

“Halfway healthy?” The venom in CJ’s voice startled all of them. “Healthy? Are you fucking crazy? They’re polygamists! There’s nothing healthy about that! And they’re sucking you all in to their little fantasy world where that’s okay, too. Well, fine. You can follow them down the rabbit hole, but I ain’t going.” He stood, dumped his empty bottle in the trash, and left the apartment.

Misty looked at Sam, who nodded with a resigned sigh and left to shadow him home. He probably was under the legal limit but he was upset enough that she wanted to know when he made it home safely. She pulled her legs up against her chest and rested her forehead against her knees. “I fucked this up, didn’t I?”

“I’m not really sure there would have been a better way to handle it,” Charles told her sympathetically. 

“They need our help,” Misty told him. For the moment, she focused on her twic instead of the rest of the squad. It was easier to pretend they were alone, strategizing over beer. “I’ve met Catriona – the druid – and if I had to stake my life on who was a better person, I think Catriona would win over Director Fury.”

Charles sat down on the end of the couch nearest Misty and leaned back, contemplating his beer. “It’s not just about who is a better person, Buffy.” She glared at him, but he wasn’t sure if it was the content of his comment or the use of her nickname. “We’re Agents of SHIELD. We have commitments to the organization.” Misty wasn’t sure how to tell him that her loyalty had shifted. She wasn’t sure she wanted to admit that, in front of the rest of the squad. 

“I’m in, for helping them,” Lance said quietly. “Agent Barton – Clint – has been taking time out of his own training schedule to help me meet the fitness requirements. Coulson gave me a book about using your brain in a fight to defeat a tougher opponent. Romanoff sends me extraction scenarios and grades my plans. None of that is in our official training regimen – I checked. Director Fury wants us to be capable agents – Coulson, Barton, and Romanoff want us to be the best.”

“I didn’t realize they’d given you private attention too,” Angie murmured. “Coulson got me access to some of Tony Stark’s old notes on AI, and Barton’s been teaching me how to fool biometric locks. I thought it was just me.”

It went around the room – each of them had gotten individually tailored help that pushed at their specialties. When Sam returned from seeing CJ home, she agreed as well – Natasha had been giving her private hand-to-hand sessions, with Clint as their stand-in attacker.

As the conversation had progressed and the baked goods and beer were consumed, the mood in Misty’s living room relaxed. “I had no idea they were putting so much into us,” Misty admitted. “I knew Sensei was putting a lot into my training – I just didn’t realize it was all of us.”

“I’m still not sure I can help them,” Alley Cat admitted. “I can keep my mouth shut – they’ve earned that much – but I’m not ready to jump into outright deception.”

“That’s fair.” Misty had relaxed as well, her feet now curled up underneath her. “I won’t ask anyone to take risks for them if they aren’t willing – and I’ll sure as hell never order it.”

“For now, I shall also abstain,” Doc said regretfully. “It is not that I do not think that they are worthy of loyalty – but my agreement with SHIELD pays off the remainder of my college debt, and I can’t jeopardize that.”

Misty briefly regretted that – Doc would have been well suited to find the lab tech they needed – but she wouldn’t hold it against him. “So, that’s me and Chuckles, Lancelot, Angie and Sam.” There were nods of agreement. “Doc, if you and Alley Cat don’t mind cutting out, I think the five of us need to have a confab about what we can do to help.”

~ * ~

“Clint, please stop apologizing,” Phil said wearily as he locked their front door behind them. The archer’s mouth snapped shut, evidently to prevent himself from yet another apology. “Goddess, I’m not sure which I need more – a large tumbler of scotch or a tumble with the two of you.”

Natasha smoothed a hand across his back. Words aside, Phil didn’t look like he wanted a romp in the sheets – he looked like a man on the verge of collapse. And, she realized as she saw his eyes pinch at the corners, he was fighting off a headache again. She wondered how long he’d managed to keep it from them. Natasha took his hand and led him into the kitchen, putting water into the electric kettle and taking out the canister of tea Catriona had left for his headaches. When he didn’t persist, she knew he’d been fighting the headache a considerable time – probably since the Scoobies had first begun reacting to their announcement. 

Clint took the canister from her and meticulously measured an amount into the tiny strainer. His movements were still not as smooth as usual, but he’d calmed himself somewhat. Natasha didn’t protest at him taking over the chore. Instead, she said, “Come on, loverling, let’s go sit on the couch. Clint will bring you your tea.” Phil followed her without comment, which worried her more than his headache.

He was still silent when Clint brought in his mug of tea. Natasha had curled up against his left side, leaving the right for Clint to settle into. Natasha waited until he’d emptied half the mug before she spoke again. “Can you tell us what it is that bothered you so much, loverling? You’ve gone all closed off on us, and I don’t have a handy Gaia-conduit into that beautiful mind of yours.”

Phil shifted the mug from his left hand to his right so that he could clasp Natasha’s hand. “Perceptive as always.”

“Not perceptive enough, or I’d have known how bad the headache was sooner.”

“Still.” He stared down into the mug. “CJ’s reaction hurt the most – but Clint’s reaction to Charles is what scares me.”

“It scared me too,” Clint admitted.

Natasha squeezed Phil’s hand. “Why CJ? Why not what Chuckles was saying, before Clint cut him off?”

Phil drained the mug and leaned forward to set it on the coffee table, so that he had both hands free to hold his achroi ghra close to him. “Charles was a Marine – I expected crudity from him. Innuendo, suggestiveness – teasing that crosses into hazing might as well be a ribbon awarded to Marines. But CJ… I had hoped…” he paused, closed his eyes for a moment. “I had hoped that his nontraditional upbringing would have made him more openminded.”

“Nontraditional?” Clint repeated incredulously. “Did you read the full report?” Phil nodded, but Natasha held up a hand.

“What report? Nontraditional?”

Clint groaned. “I thought you’d read it. You remember, oh, seven or eight years ago, when SHIELD took down that domestic terrorist group in Idaho? I can’t remember the name of it.

“League of Knights,” Phil supplied. “Sounds so pretentious.”

“Right, that one – with the boss guy and all his mercenaries? There was a lot of human trafficking in and out of that compound – pretty girls, strong warriors… the occasional pretty boy…” he trailed off, picturing the horror. “CJ was born to members of the group, but he was sold to the boss guy… trained as a sniper, but… expected to…” Clint really didn’t want to have to say it, but Natasha understood.

“Served as a warrior by day, a bedwarmer by night?” she asked quietly.

Clint nodded. “What he went through was a lot closer to a concentration camp than a hippie commune. And until I saw his reaction, I didn’t realize that polygamy must have been a part of that cult’s belief systems.”

“Is that why you went after Chuck, and not CJ?” Natasha prodded.

“Couldn’t go for CJ – I know what it’s like to be that damaged.” Clint shrugged. “But he primed the pump, so when Chuckles started talking I just… had to make him stop.”

Phil rubbed this thumb over Clint’s fingers entwined in his. “If I’d been thinking more clearly, I might have asked Misty to exclude him. CJ, I mean.”

“That probably would have made it worse,” Natasha said thoughtfully. “He’d know there was something he was excluded from – people who have had to learn to read expressions and behaviors in self-defense are very difficult to hide things from.” Phil squeezed her hand, knowing she had the same problem – a good portion of her skill set had been perfected purely because to fail meant to die.

“Did I really scare you, Moonbeam?” Clint asked, his voice quiet. 

“Yes,” Phil admitted readily. “I realized, when I saw you pinning Charles to that wall, that I couldn’t stop you. If you’d decided to kill him, I would have been powerless to prevent it.” His hand, tucked in Clint’s, trembled. “I’m accustomed to others seeing the pair of you as weapons – fielding you that way for SHIELD business. I’m just used to knowing the weapon doesn’t fire unless I pull the trigger.”

“You did stop me,” Clint reminded him. “All it took was your voice to stop me. And if, by some wacky circumstances, you aren’t there to stop me – I’m pretty sure Nat could have taken me down.”

“Could have, and would have,” Natasha agreed. “After Chuck squirmed some more.” Phil glanced at her in surprise. “He insulted Clint, too. Or at least, it sounded like an insult to me.” She sniffed derisively. “Great muscle control, indeed.”

Clint laughed. “Well, he’s not wrong about that.” He ran one finger up Phil’s arm. “He just doesn’t realize how… extensively… we exercise that control.”

“He… ahh…” Phil understood abruptly what Charles had been suggesting, and blushed.

Natasha laughed as well, leaning over to kiss Phil’s reddened cheek. “At least he didn’t outright ask who was on top.” Phil’s flush rose higher, and Natasha’s laughter deepened, became husky. “You’re embarrassed by the damndest things, loverling,” she murmured, her lips very close to his ear.

“Perhaps we should take this upstairs?” Clint suggested as he slid his hand down Phil’s t-shirt and then back up, underneath it now.

“Excellent strategy,” Natasha approved, and stood.

~ * ~


	8. Chapter 8

Morning came all too soon. Phil hoped that his face didn’t reflect the emotional turmoil he was feeling as the triad readied for work. Natasha dressed casually – she’d be changing into Natalie’s clothes once she reached Natalie’s apartment, after her final briefing by Director Fury. Already, she was putting aside ‘Natasha’ to focus on being ‘Natalie.’ She ate the pancakes Phil made, kissed each of her husbands’ cheeks, and left the house early.

When she was gone, Clint sank down onto one of the stools at the kitchen counter and sighed. “This already sucks.”

Phil flashed him a smile as he poured another cup of coffee for the archer. “I know. But at least we don’t have to deal with Stark, and she does.”

“Point.” Clint picked up the refilled cup. “I always feel a little lost when she’s on a mission without me – even before this.” He tapped his ring against the handle of the coffee cup. “It really doesn’t help to know that the last solo mission she took wound up being the one that got her Chosen – which means she didn’t just have a brush with Death, she invited him in for a cup of tea.”

“She’ll be fine,” Phil reassured him, moving to sit on the stool next to him. “She’s got mayday capabilities she didn’t have then. I can’t imagine a circumstance in which she’d be cut off from both you and Gaia – and even if she were, Gaia would know something was wrong and send Catriona, or one of the other druids. Stark’s a pain in the ass, but he’s not likely to lash out at her physically, even if he does figure out she’s a plant.”

Clint nodded, eyes fixed on the mug in his hands. “My brain knows that.”

“Mine does too, but it doesn’t seem to stop my heart from hurting,” Phil said quietly.

“At least we’ll have plenty to occupy ourselves,” Clint said, though he didn’t sound enthusiastic about it. “I don’t know about you, but I’m planning on carving out some solo time with each of the Scoobies, and treating them exactly the way I did yesterday, before they knew.”

“Clever bird,” Phil murmured and leaned over to kiss him. “I wish I had the luxury of time today, but I’ve got reports – and budgets – to work on.” Clint shuddered theatrically and Phil grinned. “Somebody has to fill out requisition forms, or you’d never have arrows.”

“And I’m devoutly glad that it’s you, and not me,” Clint said fervently. He drained the coffee mug, put it in the dishwasher, and stretched. “I’m going to have a word with Gaia, and then head in.”

Phil watched him stretch, admiringly, before rising as well. “I’ll head straight in. Try not to kill any of my recruits, pretty bird.” He reached for one more kiss, and then left the house.

Clint stepped outside, digging his bare toes into the patch of soil they’d been using for meditation. {Morning, Mama.}

\\\And a blessed morning to you, Boghdoir Barton.//

{Did Nat already talk to you about last night, and the Scoobies?}

\\\She did.//

Clint sighed in relief. He didn’t want to go over the whole series of reactions again – Natasha had done him a favor there. {Did we screw up?}

\\\I do not believe so, my archer. It was a gamble – but I believe it was the correct choice.//

He relaxed some. {Any words of wisdom about how to treat them, now that they know?}

\\\Your comment to treorai was most accurate. It would be best to treat them the same – let them see that your relationship has no impact upon your professional demeanor.//

{But if they ask questions? Should I answer them?}

\\\If you feel comfortable answering them, yes. If it is information you are not willing to share, then do not.//

{You always make it sound so easy,} Clint grumbled, squinching his toes in the dirt.

\\\Simple and easy are not the same thing, boghdoir.//

{That’s what I hear.} He rolled his shoulders, trying to work out kinks from being tense. {You’ll keep an ear out for Natasha, right? I mean, if she gets into trouble, you’ll know, right?}

\\\Yes, boghdoir.// Her words came with a wash of comfort and compassion which did more to ease Clint’s tension than any stretching he might do.

They spoke for some time more, about inconsequential things. Clint thought the Goddess was doing Her best to put his worry at ease, and it was working. By the time he departed for headquarters, he felt more solid. He’d miss Natasha – there was no changing that. But he didn’t have the same skin-prickling fear for her absence any longer.

~ * ~

Phil eyed the stack of reports in his inbox and wished that his ‘Coulson Stare’ worked on inanimate objects as well as it did on SHIELD agents. He was half-convinced paperwork multiplied like tribbles anytime he wasn’t actively watching it.

With a deep sigh that he would never let a subordinate hear, he reached for the top report. He’d read, revised, and distributed about an inch of his inbox (and devoutly wished he no longer measured paperwork in inches) when there was a knock at his door. He looked up, and saw Angie. “Agent Edwards, please come in,” he told her, rising and buttoning his suit jacket. “Close the door behind you, please.” She did so, moving towards his desk hesitantly. Once the door was shut, he unbuttoned his jacket again and slid it off, hanging it on the back of his chair. “When the door is shut, I can be Agent Coulson or Phil,” he told her with a small smile. “You have a Phil face on, but I apologize if I’ve misread you.”

“No, you’re right.” Angie sank into one of his guest chairs. “Buffy volunteered me to give you an update on what we discussed after you left last night.” She made a face. “I wish I could say it was a unanimous decision, but…”

“CJ and Alley Cat out?” Phil asked.

Angie nodded, not surprised that he’d guessed that. “Doc too, but he’s kinda regretful about it. Apparently his SHIELD contract pays off some pretty hefty student debt, and he’s afraid to risk it.” Phil nodded sympathetically. “So, you’ve got five of us. Buffy, Chuckles, Lancelot, Sam, and me. We talked about your lab tech request too, over beer and brownies – and holy crap, those are good brownies.”

“Thanks.” Phil sat back in his chair and smiled at her. “Natasha baked them, but it’s one of my family’s recipes. My parents run a bed-and-breakfast type place in Wisconsin… Mom’s recipes are golden.” He bit back a laugh at the surprise in her face.

“So… we think the best way to intercept the info you want is if I put a sniffer-bot into the DNA database,” Angie told him. She sat back as well, unconsciously relaxing as he did. “It’ll have to be passive, or security sweeps will cotton on to it, but I can make it alert you if a sample is run with certain markers… if you know what markers I’m looking for.”

Phil sighed. “Right. Can’t flag for what you can’t identify.” He picked up a pen, twirling it idly. “I’ll have to work on that. I think Catriona would be willing to let us have a sample, if we could guarantee it’d be run off-site and the information destroyed once it was no longer needed.”

“We might be able to get away without running a full profile on her, if one of us – and that would be either me or Lancelot, since it’s all tech and science – can pinpoint an unusual characteristic of hers that limit the false positives. Can’t use something simple like hair color or eye color, but if she’s got an unusual mutation, we could probably use that.”

“You want to ask a two-thousand-year-old druid if she’s got any unusual mutations?” Phil repeated. At Angie’s nod, he rolled his eyes. “It would probably be easier to work backwards – find a gene mutation that has only appeared in the last hundred years or so, and search for profiles that don’t have it.”

“That’s… a really good idea,” Angie admitted.

“As my wife says, that’s why I’m the tactician and they’re foot soldiers.” He smiled fondly.

Angie squirmed a little in her chair before asking finally, “Is she going to be okay at SI without any backup?”

Phil felt a surge of emotion – pride in the Scoobies and gratitude for their support being foremost in his mind. “She’s only officially without backup,” Phil told her. “Clint can still hear her, and if she were to get in a situation she couldn’t get out of – which would be a pretty bad spot indeed – there are ways to get her out. They wouldn’t be subtle, but if it was her life or secrecy…” he shrugged.

“Good. I mean, good that you’ve got a backup plan.” Angie let out the breath she’d been holding. “If it had been one of us in there, what would you do?”

“One of you? You, or Sam, or Misty? First, I’d have had a very strenuous argument with the Director about putting someone under in a high-stakes op without completing their training.” Angie rolled her eyes. “But, assuming all three of you were adequately trained…” He thought about it for a moment. “I’d probably have my hacker wire a panic button in the agent’s phone. Nothing that would record or transmit data, just enough that it could send a blip so I’d know to send in the cavalry – which would either be Clint and Natasha, or them and the rest of the Scoobies.”

“And you’d do the panic button thing without Director Fury’s approval, no matter who it was?”

Phil looked at her steadily for a moment before he answered. “I will not allow Director Fury to put my agents at undue risk, particularly without a contingency plan. However, it is usually smarter to add precautions without his knowledge than to continue arguing with him about the value of an experienced agent.”

“Whoa.” Angie shook her head. “I didn’t mean you to go all Agent Coulson on me. Damn.” Phil was silent, but his face hadn’t relaxed yet. “I just meant… I wanted to know if you were taking risks just for your… um… spouses, or if it was everyone. I should have known.”

Phil did relax then, and offered her a small smile. “I was an Army Ranger before I was SHIELD – I never leave a man behind.”

~ * ~


	9. Chapter 9

By noon, Clint was utterly exhausted.

He’d spent the morning trying to keep himself too busy to worry about Natasha – even though she was doing nothing more strenuous than new employee paperwork at Stark Industries – and trying to cut single Scoobies from the herd for individual attention. He’d succeeded at exactly none of that. He wasn’t sure if the Scoobies were deliberately not being alone with him – he couldn’t imagine why they would avoid him – but it was wearing on his nerves anyway.

Instead of going to the mess hall and sitting alone at the table he usually shared with Natasha, he gathered trays for both himself and Phil before heading to Phil’s office.

Phil looked up in surprise when Clint entered. He stood and relieved Clint of one of the trays, and the archer used his now free hand to shut and lock the office door. Then he set down his own tray and held out his arms to his husband. “I need a hug.”

Immediately, Phil set his tray down as well, reaching for Clint and pulling him in tight, cupping a hand around his head. He could feel the tension in Clint’s muscles, the slight tremor just below the surface. “What’s wrong, beautiful?” Phil murmured into Clint’s ear.

Clint clung to him, buried his against Phil’s neck and breathed deeply of the comforting scent. He didn’t know how to explain his upset, but he tried. “The Scoobies are avoiding me.”

Phil ran a soothing hand down Clint’s back, pulling him more firmly against his body. “We did give them quite a shock, pretty bird. And I imagine they are doing some rethinking of exactly how deadly you are.”

“I just want them to act normal,” Clint complained.

A chuckle escaped before Phil could contain it. “And what would a normal reaction look like, when you’ve just found out that your training officer is having psychic mood swings?” Clint pulled away far enough to stare at Phil. “I expect they’re giving you space. They know you’re sensitive right now, and that Natasha is gone – I would guess that Misty asked them to be considerate and to avoid setting you off.”

“I’m not a bomb,” Clint protested, returning to his previous position, tucked as closely to Phil as possible.

“No,” Phil agreed, and his voice was soft. “They know how to handle bombs.”

They stood there, curled into each other, for another ten minutes before Clint felt steady enough to release Phil and sit down on the couch, reaching for his lunch. “I’m sorry. This whole emotional roller coaster sucks.”

“I love you anyway,” Phil assured him, sitting down next to him and picking up his own tray.

“Believe me, that’s what’s keeping me going,” Clint said with a sigh. “That and Natasha’s running commentary on how boring working in the legal department is. Boring is good. Boring is safe.”

Phil chuckled again. “Now you know how I feel, every time I have to send the pair of you out.”

Clint blinked, twisting to stare at his husband. “Every time?”

“Yes.” Phil busied himself with his sandwich, not making eye contact.

“Since when?”

“Since the first time you were injured on a mission that I sent you on,” Phil answered softly.

“You mean the one seven years ago?” Clint squeaked. “Really?”

“Yes.”

Dumbfounded, Clint sat back, still staring at Phil. “You weren’t kidding when you said you’ve always been ours, were you?”

“No.” The response was quiet, almost silent. “I never expected it to be mutual. Hoped, fantasized – never expected.”

“I love you,” Clint told him. “You know that, right? I mean, not just because you’re an amazing cook, delicious eye candy, and the best man I know. When I was first Chosen, and Catriona told us that Nat and I would have a telepathic bond… you were the only other person either of us thought we’d be willing to do that with. You’re the only other person on the planet that I trust absolutely.”

Phil did make eye contact then, his smile faint but fond. “I know. I love you too. Both of you.”

They finished their lunches, letting the conversation wax and wane. When they were both done eating, Clint stacked the trays neatly together and put his feet up on the coffee table, leaning against Phil. “I wish…”

“I know.” It wasn’t difficult to guess what Clint wished, given the position of his hand on Phil’s body. “I wish, too.” He kissed Clint tenderly, grabbing the hand in his lap around the wrist and pulling it to safer territory. “Later, lovebird. That’s not something I particularly want to be interrupted.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “The door is locked.”

“Yes, and it’s been locked for nearly an hour – we’re pushing our luck already.” He leaned in for another kiss before reluctantly pulling away. “Back to work, so that I can leave at a reasonable hour.”

“Yes, sir,” Clint agreed, standing and stretching. Then he laughed. “Natasha adds her two cents, that there will be no more fraternizing on SHIELD property unless she gets to play, too.”

Phil chuckled. “I’ll keep that in mind.” He moved to the door and unlocked it, then pulled Clint to him for one final kiss.

“See you at home,” Clint whispered in his ear, and then shouldered the burden of Agent Barton and walked out the office door.

~ * ~

Clint felt considerably more settled after an hour with his husband – enough that it didn’t bother him when he was unable to get any of the Scoobies to join him in the range for some target practice. Without a student, he was able to work to his own limit. He began with his bow, increasing the distance and difficulty of his targets as his muscles relaxed into the familiar exercise. He was nearly at the end of his effective range – which was considerably farther than most would attempt – when someone cleared their throat behind him. He fired the arrow he still held, then set the bow down on the shooting bench and turned around. “Agent Hill,” he said in surprise. “What brings you down to the range?”

Maria crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes at him. “You can’t guess?”

“I’m terrible at guessing games,” he said blithely. “Just ask my – family.” He’d nearly let slip ‘spouses’ and chastised himself for it.

“No idea why I’d be the only person in the range with you in the middle of the afternoon?” Maria continued, her voice crisp and cool.

Clint’s brow furrowed. “No?” He was genuinely surprised – he hadn’t been alone initially. There had been several other agents using the facility, though he’d set up some distance from them. He hadn’t noticed them leaving, either.

His confusion caused Maria to rethink her approach. She let her arms drop to the side and looked at Clint piercingly. “How long have you been down here?”

“Uh…” Clint blinked. “What time is it? I’ve been down here since a little after one.”

“It’s almost four,” Maria told him, and this time her voice was almost gentle. “You’ve been down here almost three hours, Barton.”

“Huh.” He rolled his shoulders. “I should probably have been paying attention. I’m going to suffer for this tomorrow.”

Maria grimaced. “Yes, you probably are. You’re lucky Romanoff’s in the field. She’d kick your ass in the ring for this.”

Clint rubbed the back of his neck. “If she weren’t in the field, I wouldn’t be down here,” he admitted. That was safe – it was common knowledge that they didn’t like to be split up on ops.

“I figured.” Maria leaned against one of the stall dividers. “So, what about this mission’s got you wired enough to spend three hours intimidating the hell out of any agent who walks into the range?”

“I wasn’t doing that on purpose,” Clint protested. Maria waved a hand, brushing away his protest. “I’ve just got… bad vibes, I guess.” Her eyebrows shot up and he sighed. “Don’t you get gut feelings, Hill?”

She wanted to argue that SHIELD agents didn’t operate on instinct, but she knew that would be at least a partial lie. Yeah, she knew what gut feelings felt like – that’s what made her seek out Barton in the first place. “You wanna talk about it?” His astonishment must have shown on his face, because she chuckled. “Hey, just because it’s been a year since you let me buy you a beer doesn’t mean you aren’t still my friend.”

Clint was silent for a moment, his hands beginning the comforting routine of putting his bow away. “I guess I didn’t realize it had been that long.” He should have – he hadn’t spent an evening holding down a barstool or prowling the clubs since being Chosen – and having Natasha and Phil.

“You quit drinking or something?”

“No.” He debated how to answer her – wished that Natasha wasn’t busy doing whatever legal clerks at Stark Industries did – regretted that Phil wasn’t telepathic and couldn’t weigh in on this either. “I’ve just been spending more time at home.”

Maria’s eyes narrowed. “I guess Coulson isn’t the only one with a mystery date.”

Panic flared inside Clint’s head. That was not a leap of logic that he wanted her to follow – and Hill was clever enough to figure out the truth from very little information. “Maybe I’m just getting too old for bar hopping,” he said, as casually as he could manage. 

“Uh huh.” She didn’t believe him, and let him see the disbelief clearly. 

“Look, Hill… Maria…” he hoped that his use of her first name would let her know that this was personal, not professional. “I’m… there is somebody, but I can’t talk about it. Not without repercussions we’re not willing to risk.” He found it bothered him, having to lie about their triad.

“That’s almost word for word what Coulson said to Fury, you know.”

Clint closed his eyes. “Please, Maria. Please don’t push. I’m not just asking, I’m begging.”

In the years she’d know Agent Clint Barton, he’d said ‘please’ to her perhaps a dozen times – and she was damned certain he’d never come close to begging her for anything before. So – it was serious. Whatever he and Agent Coulson had going on – because it had to be the two of them, really – was important enough to Barton to not just swallow his pride, but exorcise it completely to protect the relationship. “Okay,” she answered finally. “Okay. I won’t push. But if I can figure it out, so can other people.”

He didn’t tell her that other people knew – the whole of the Scooby Squad, his spouses, his family, and Phil’s family. He didn’t correct her assumption that it was just he and Phil in a relationship. Right now, with his emotions so vivid, he didn’t dare. “I know. I’m hoping no one else does.”

“I’ll still buy you a beer and listen to you talk, if you need it,” Maria told him. Her voice was quiet now, having lost some of the interrogatory tone she’d used earlier.

“Thanks.” He flashed her a smile – a genuine one, and that seemed to surprise her more. “I appreciate it, but my… mystery date… is a pretty good listener, too.”

“I bet,” Maria said dryly.

~ * ~


	10. Chapter 10

It was after six by the time Phil extricated himself from his office and headed home. He’d sent Clint a message when it looked like he’d be later than he’d planned – he didn’t want to worry his already-fretting husband – and now wanted nothing more than to get home, whip up something to eat, and curl up together to watch a movie.

He had just slipped on his overcoat and was picking up his briefcase when there was a knock on his door. Stifling the desire to sigh – or scream – he turned. “Yes?”

Agent Maria Hill leaned up against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest. It was a deliberately casual pose that Phil didn’t believe for a moment. “Got a minute?” she asked.

“I was just heading out.”

“I’ll walk you to your car.” She straightened up, and he knew he wouldn’t be able to shake her. Fine. He could listen to her on the way to Lola, and then head home to Clint.

“This couldn’t wait until morning?” he asked, trying to keep his tone light.

“Could. Probably shouldn’t.” She clasped her hands behind her back as she walked beside him. “Did you know that Agent Barton spent three hours alone in the range today?”

Phil debated his answer. He did know – aside from the fact that Clint had told him when Maria had rousted him from the range, he’d been keeping an eye via video feed. That part he had no intention of revealing – it was entirely against regulations for him to access those feeds for personal use, but he had found lately that he could focus better if he could see Clint and Natasha safe on the screen. “Yes,” he said finally. He didn’t want to lie to her. 

He was so tired of lying.

“Is he okay?” Maria asked. This time, her question didn’t have the professional air he expected – this wasn’t Agent Hill speaking.

“He will be,” Phil said with a small smile. “It’s always difficult for him, when Natasha – when Agent Romanoff is in the field without him.” He cursed himself for the slip – because the moment he’d used Natasha’s name instead of her title, Maria’s eyebrows had shot up. She narrowed her eyes at him, and he could feel the weight of her stare. 

To trust, or not to trust?

“Do you have dinner plans?” he asked her, with as much nonchalance as he could manage under the circumstances.

“No,” she answered in surprise.

“Good. Hop in.” He gestured to Lola’s passenger seat, and prayed to Gaia that he wasn’t making a mistake.

~ * ~

“How long have you lived here?” Maria was asking as Phil unlocked the back door to the small ranch house.

“Off and on for… oh, six months or so,” he said distractedly. He hadn’t had time to text Clint and warn him – had no idea what state of mind his husband was in. He finally managed to get the door unlocked and opened it into the kitchen, where a wash of delicious smells hit him full force.

Clint turned and smiled at them. He was wearing an apron – not Phil’s, a purple one – and was barefoot. He didn’t look surprised to see Maria. “Hey,” he said, his eyes fastening on Phil’s.

He hadn’t intended to make a display of affection in front of Maria, but he couldn’t stop himself. He stepped forward and kissed Clint gently, careful not to brush the splattered apron against his suit. “Hey yourself.”

Maria blinked. “Okay. That’s new.”

Clint laughed. He was more relaxed than he’d been in the range, she realized. This Clint was a lot more like the one she’d trained with – and hadn’t realized she’d missed. “It isn’t,” Clint told her. “New to you, not new to us.” Phil hung his overcoat on the appropriate hook, slipped his suit jacket off, and began to roll up his sleeves, intended to pitch in with the cooking. Clint shook his head. “No need, loverling. Everything’s done.”

Phil raised an eyebrow at Clint’s use of that particular nickname – he’d only ever heard Natasha use it. “Alright.” He opened the refrigerator. “Beer, Maria?”

“Please.”

He handed her a bottle, then took one for himself and put one in Clint’s hand as well. Maria was watching them intently. Clint was ignoring the scrutiny. “Big Mama told me you were bringing a stray home for dinner,” Clint told his husband quietly. “I think She didn’t want me caught off guard.”

Oh. That made perfect sense. “Thank Her for me, would you?” He brushed some stray flour off of Clint’s cheek with his thumb. “I wasn’t sure how you’d be.”

“Better now,” Clint assured him. “Nat’s tucked in safe in Natalie’s apartment, with Chinese food and a stack of chick flicks she won’t admit she wants to watch.”

“Wait.” Maria held up the hand not holding her beer, looking confused. “What? What’s Romanoff got to do with this?”

“Everything,” Phil said quietly. He watched Clint turn off the stove and ladle dinner into bowls. “Do you want to know the full extent of it, or would you prefer plausible deniability?”

“Fuck me sideways,” she muttered. Clint snorted. “I want to know it all, damn it.” She took the bowl Clint handed her, and he gestured to the dining room.

Phil took his bowl as well, grabbing spoons because Clint always forgot them, and followed her to the table. “First and foremost, I need your word that none of this gets to Director Fury.” Phil’s voice was calm, but his face was stern.

Maria sat down heavily, managed not to slop her soup over the edge of the bowl, and stared at Phil. “You’re serious.” He didn’t answer her verbally, but his gaze sharpened on her. “Son of a bitch, Phil. Alright. You have my word.”

Clint sat down next to Phil, unconsciously angling his body towards his husband. “Whose turn is it, to tell?” he asked.

Phil had to think about that. “You told Laura, I told my parents… Misty told the Scoobies. I think it’s Natasha’s turn.”

“The Scoobies know?” Maria asked incredulously. Clint ignored her.

“Nat told your sibs and in-laws, though. And really, we all told the Scoobies.” He tasted the soup, made a pleased noise, and looked sideways at Phil. “I need to thank your mom for this recipe, it’s as easy as it is delicious.”

“I don’t fucking care whose turn it is, someone had better start talking,” Maria demanded. 

Phil chuckled, weariness warring with amusement. “I’ll take this one, pretty bird, but you’re up next.”

“Oh, thanks.” Clint rolled his eyes. “You just wanted to call me that in front of Maria.” Under the table, though, he pressed his leg against Phil’s in gratitude.

“I’m not sure where to begin,” Phil said with a sigh. He picked up his beer, took a long drink, and then held out his left hand across the table to Maria. “Can you see my ring?”

“You’re not wearing a damn ring,” Maria began, and then blinked. “What the hell?” She stared at the black band, noting absently that those were very nice black diamonds. Her eyes traveled to Clint’s left hand, where an identical band sat. “Since when?”

Phil ran his thumb along the underside of the band, smiling down at it. “We bought them in December, right before we went to see my family. I didn’t expect to like the black, but Natasha wasn’t comfortable with yellow or white gold.”

“Why does that matter?”

“She really isn’t getting this, treorai,” Clint murmured. “Suck it up and be blunt.”

“Clint and I aren’t just a couple – we’re two parts of a triad,” Phil told Maria.

“And a triad is…?” she asked with exaggerated patience.

“A permanent threesome,” Clint answered. The humor had fallen from his face, leaving a seriousness that Maria didn’t remember seeing in him before. “A marriage in all but the law.”

Maria set down her spoon and sat back in her chair. “For how long?” Then she paused. “No, I can guess. Since you were dosed with that truth serum a year ago, right Phil?”

“Yes.”

“And you told a group of snot-nosed rookies before you told me?”

Clint sighed. “Sunshine did warn us she’d be pissed.”

“You’re damned right I’m pissed.” She swallowed the hurt and let only her anger show. “Why them?”

“Misty could see our rings,” Phil said simply. “There’s a… well, a type of aversion charm on them. People just don’t see them. Except for Misty. Once she knew, it was only a matter of time before we had to tell her squad – partly so that she didn’t have to lie to them anymore, and partly because we needed the help.”

“And you didn’t think I could help?” she bit out.

“I didn’t want to put you in this position.” Phil stirred the dregs of soup in his bowl, not looking at Maria. “We’re violating SHIELD policy, in a big way. I didn’t want to force you to choose between friendship and duty.”

“But it’s okay to ask your rookies to do it? What the hell?”

Phil started to protest, but his cell phone rang. With a sigh, he answered it. “Yes, love?” he said to Natasha, having seen her number on the display.

“Hand the phone to Maria, please, loverling.” He did so, flashing a look at Clint.

“Hello?” Maria asked, confusion warring with anger.

“It’s Natasha. Would you kindly stop yelling at my husbands when I’m not there to defend them? Clint’s having a rough time, and you’re not helping.”

If Maria hadn’t recognized the voice, she’d have assumed this was a practical joke. She was full of questions – how did Natasha know she was here? How did she know what they were talking about? Why did she risk her cover to call now? “He’s not the only one,” Maria muttered.

Natasha’s tone softened. “I know. We knew you were going to be upset that we didn’t come to you sooner. It isn’t that we don’t trust you. You wouldn’t be sitting at the table, eating a Coulson family recipe, if we didn’t. There’s a level of respect for your integrity that is different than with the Scoobies. They’re… ours. We knew without really needing to discuss it that they’d keep quiet. You… your moral compass isn’t as easily redirected.” Natasha paused, and Maria heard her sigh. “Clint’s terrified that you’re going to go straight to Director Fury. He’s not thinking all that clearly right now – Phil can explain, if he wants – but if Fury knows, everything changes.”

“I’m not running to the boss,” Maria responded. She closed her eyes, the better to sort through her thoughts. “I should. God knows I should.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “Did you know that all three of your evaluation scores have gone up in the past year?”

“No,” Phil and Natasha answered in unison. Clint was silent.

“Gone up a lot, in fact.” Maria picked at the label of her beer. “Couldn’t figure out why. Your team’s evals have gone up too – enough that I was starting to wonder if it was a training technique I could steal. But it’s… this, isn’t it?”

“Yes,” Natasha said quietly. “It brings us all balance.”

Maria sighed. “Alright.” Phil raised an eyebrow. “I’ll keep your secret. It might be different, if your performance had gone down but… well, it hasn’t.”

“Thank you,” Natasha said sincerely. “Would you hand the phone back to Phil?” Maria passed it back across the table. “Did you have to do this when I wasn’t home?” she asked her husband, trying for petulance and missing the mark.

“I didn’t plan it, love,” Phil protested. “It just… felt like time.”

Natasha snorted. “Right. Like it was just the right time to tell Misty, too. You know, for a man whose profession is keeping secrets, you sure spread this one around.” He started to protest again, but she cut him off. “I’m teasing, loverling. I guess it’s hard to tell when you can’t see me. Goddess, I miss you two.” That last was said in a tight whisper. 

“We miss you, too.” Phil’s voice was equally soft, and Clint reached for his hand, squeezing it tightly.

“I’d better go,” Natasha said reluctantly. “If anyone finds out I called you… well.” She made a rude noise. “Take care of Clint for me. I love you both.”

“I love you both,” Phil agreed, squeezing Clint’s hand. They ended the call and Phil returned the phone to his pocket. He knew he needed to deal with Maria – she was looking thunderstruck – but Clint came first. Phil turned to his husband, slipping one arm around his waist. “I’m supposed to take care of you for her,” he told the archer. “You’ve gone all quiet on me, pretty bird. You know how much it worries us when you do that.”

Us. We. The words leapt out at Maria. That’s what she was seeing, that’s what was new – and why they’d told their rookie team instead of a lone friend. This was… unity.

“I’m fine,” Clint told his husband, drawing Maria’s attention back to him.

“We’ve got rules about that word,” Phil reminded him. He pressed a gentle kiss to Clint’s temple. “What do you need?”

“Other than our wife home?” Clint asked with a wan smile. “I don’t know. I just can’t shake this feeling that something’s… not right.” He frowned, rubbing his forearm. “It’s almost… itchy.” Then his eyes widened. “Son of a bitch.”

“Go,” Phil told him, releasing his hold immediately. “Check in with Gaia and then with Nat.” Clint nodded and hurried out the back door – feet still bare.

“What’s going on?” Maria demanded.

Phil looked back to her – he’d been distracted by Clint – and sighed. “I might as well fill you in on the other half of the big secret,” he said, voice resigned.

~ * ~


	11. Chapter 11

{Gaia?} Clint asked, the moment his bare foot hit the ground.

\\\I am here, Boghdoir Barton,// the Goddess responded immediately. \\\I trust that you are answering my summons?//

{Yes, ma’am. How can I be of service?}

\\\I have just received word that there has been a…// the Goddess paused, as though searching for words, \\\what one could term a ‘disturbance in the force.’ I know not yet what its effects will be nor if it will directly affect Earth, but I wish to put you on alert.//

Clint’s forward motion was halted by Gaia’s use of a pop culture reference, and he sank into a seated position where he was, putting as much skin into contact with the ground as he could. {Okay. Can you be a little more specific?}

\\\Would that I could, my archer. Alas, neither the druid in question nor myself are Foreseers, and the Seer with whom I would normally consult appears to be part of the disturbance. I will tell you this – what is to happen, if it is to happen, will occur before Litha. I suspect it will be sooner, given the number of portents which have been observed.//

Great. An unspecified threat, while he was emotionally compromised and his field partner was unavailable. Fantastic. {Are you pulling Nat in too?}

There was another thoughtful pause by the Goddess. \\\Not at this time. It is my belief that you and your treorai will be adequate response.//

{Phil too?} That surprised him, but he was perfectly fine with it – working with Phil was always a pleasure. The man may be a top level handler now, but he’d been a damned fine field agent, and he hadn’t let his skills lapse. {So. I’m on alert now. What happens next?}

\\\For the time being, it would please me if you would check in with me more frequently throughout the day – and be alert for unusual occurrences. What is coming – if it does – will be… dramatic.//

{Okay. Do I need to talk to Natasha about this? Or do I need to not talk to her?}

\\\I will discuss it with her on the morrow, when she reaches for me – you may speak to her about it once I have explained that she is not to foreswear her current duty.//

{Better you than me,} Clint said fervently. {Any other sage words, Mama, before I go back inside?}

\\\There is unfinished business between yourself and the one you call CJ. It must be dealt with, ere it festers.//

Clint sighed. {I know. But he’s avoiding me. Us.}

\\\Find a way, my archer. I have faith that you can.//

{Alright, Mama. I’ll do my best.}

\\\That is all that I can ask for. Blessed be, Boghdoir Barton.//

The connection faded and Clint stood up, brushing idly at the grass and dirt on his pants. A disturbance in the force, a possible mission, and an order to talk to the person who least wanted to speak with him.

At least he wouldn’t be bored.

~ * ~

When Clint walked back into the room, Maria was sitting on one of the kitchen stools while Phil stirred something chocolate – brownie batter, Clint thought. Phil looked at him, one eyebrow raised. “Red alert?”

“Yellow,” Clint told him, sinking onto the other stool and propping his elbows on the counter. “And get this, She used the phrase ‘disturbance in the force.’ I think we’ve been a terrible influence.”

Phil chuckled. “Nice to know it goes both ways.”

Clint watched his husband stir chocolate chips into the batter – if he was making double chocolate brownies, he was worried and trying to hide it. Clint did him the courtesy of letting him pretend he was fine – they’d discuss it later, when they were alone. Instead, he swiveled to Maria. “So, did Phil tell you all about Big Mama and our psychic voodoo?”

Maria rolled her eyes. “Please tell me you don’t actually refer to a Goddess as ‘Big Mama.’”

“I totally do,” Clint answered with a grin. “She called me an imp, first time I did it, but She doesn’t mind.”

“You are an imp,” Phil retorted – just as he had the first time Clint told the story.

“She’s not calling Nat in on this one – it’s just you and me, if whatever’s going to happen happens,” Clint told Phil. “Sometime between now and Litha, and She thinks sooner rather than later. We’re supposed to keep our eyes peeled for anything unusual.”

“She does know that we work for an agency that specializes in unusual?” Phil asked drily. He added an extra handful of chocolate chips before spooning the batter into a baking pan and sliding it into the preheated oven. Clint thought he’d start cleaning up next – that was his usual routine – but instead he reached for the cookbook again.

“Nuh uh,” Clint said, leaning over the counter and taking the cookbook from him. “Husband veto. No more stress baking.” Maria huffed in amusement but Clint ignored her. “If you take six plates of baked goods into SHIELD tomorrow, everyone’s going to think you and your mystery date broke up, and then where would we be?” Phil sighed and conceded the point. He started instead on the cleanup.

“Aren’t you going to help?” Maria asked Clint, one eyebrow raised.

“Oh, hell no,” Clint said immediately. “I do not enter Phil’s kitchen without express invitation and assignment. I just get in the way.” He saw Phil smile at that, and could relax some himself. “Nat isn’t allowed either, although she makes a pretty good sous chef – she does a lot of precutting and premeasuring, if she’s home first.”

“Natasha cooks?” Maria blinked. Somehow the idea of the Black Widow with a spatula in her hand was… unnerving.

“Mostly she bakes,” Clint told her. “As long as we stick to Diane’s recipes – Phil’s mom – we make out okay. It’s when one of us tries to get creative that we get in sticky territory.”

“No matter what he tells you, Clint can’t make pancakes,” Phil said solemnly, but there was amusement in his eyes.

Maria laughed aloud at that. “I’ll keep that in mind.” She was quiet for a moment, watching the two men. There was an ease in them together that she didn’t think she’d seen in them before, and she wondered how different it would be with Natasha here. 

“Are you less mad at us, now?” Clint asked her. His expression had gravity she didn’t see in him often.

“Yeah.” Maria idly drew circles with her fingertip on the counter. “I’d protect something like this pretty fiercely, too.” 

“You don’t have anyone?” Phil asked delicately.

She shook her head. “Nope. Hard to find someone who can tolerate the secrecy, and the fact that Fury thinks we should all be available twenty-four, seven, three-sixty-five.”

Phil snorted. “I don’t know about you, but he told me he was glad I had a sex life now – apparently, we lose fewer recruits to heat prostration and sheer exhaustion now that I’m – how’d he put it – getting laid regularly.”

“If only he knew,” Clint said, a mischievous grin on his face. “Great Goddess, but I’d love to be a fly on the wall when he finds out.”

“Someday,” Phil said softly.

Maria’s eyebrows lifted again. “Really?”

“We’re not going to stay hidden forever,” Phil said with a small smile. “Someday – when the time is right, and we’re all three ready – we’ll go public. It’ll probably mean leaving SHIELD, but it will also make possible certain things which… can’t be hidden.” Maria’s surprise must have been obvious on her face, because he chuckled. “Not yet. But someday.”

“So what was it you needed the Scoobies to help with? Anything I can do?” Maria changed the subject, not willing to dwell any longer on what they had and she did not.

Clint explained their DNA tracking theory, and Angie’s plan to alert them. “So at least we’ll know if Fury decides he wants to go all Salem on Catriona.” At Maria’s puzzled look, he elaborated. “He keeps calling her a witch. Pisses me off.”

“All of us off,” Phil corrected. He gave the countertop a final swipe of a towel before untying his apron and hanging it back up. “I don’t know that he’d be that… vindictive. But since Catriona won’t tell us what happened…”

“I’d like to meet this druid of yours,” Maria said thoughtfully.

Clint’s body went rigid, and he had to force his hands to unclench from fists. Phil, seeing this, walked around the counter and covered Clint’s hands with his own. “She doesn’t mean any harm, love.”

“I know,” Clint said through gritted teeth. “Blame it on Litha.”

Maria’s eyes widened. “Holy shit, you weren’t joking about the mood swings.”

“Not joking,” Phil agreed. He rubbed his thumbs across Clint’s knuckles. “He’s protective of her anyway, and right now… he’s hypersensitive.”

“Very diplomatic way to put it,” Clint said dryly. Phil’s touch had soothed the worst away. “What he means is that I’ve got all the emotional control of a cave-man, and about as much finesse when it comes to the people I care about.” He leaned forward and rested his forehead against Phil’s chest. “Sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.” Maria looked down at her hands, out through the window, down the hallway – anywhere but at the two men. “I should get home,” she said finally.

Phil released Clint’s hand and escorted Maria to the door. “You need a ride?” He knew her SHIELD vehicle was still in the parking garage, as she’d ridden with him in Lola.

“Nah. I could use a walk.” She smiled, but Phil thought it looked forced. “Thanks for telling me. For trusting me.”

“Be careful,” Phil cautioned automatically, and she waved a hand as she strode down the driveway and onto the sidewalk.

“I wonder what that was about?” Clint asked, coming up behind Phil and wrapping his arms around the older man’s waist. “She seemed fine, and then she… wasn’t. Did I scare her?”

“I don’t think so,” Phil said thoughtfully, turning in Clint’s arms so that they were facing each other. “I think she’s… wistful. Misty looks at us that way sometimes, too.”

“They can’t have you,” Clint said immediately.

Phil shook his head. “Not either of us, really – just that we have each other, and Natasha.” He leaned forward and kissed Clint with more feeling than he had yet this evening. “It’s been a long day, love. What do you say we take those brownies out, take a few upstairs, and call it a night?”

Clint grinned. “That’s why you’re the tactician, and we’re just the foot soldiers.”

~ * ~


	12. Chapter 12

{I’ve secured the position of Stark’s personal assistant,} Natasha told Clint smugly during their morning conversation. {All it took was me tossing his bodyguard on his ass in the boxing ring.}

{Nat…}

{I didn’t actually do it on purpose,} she confessed with a sigh. {Stark told him to – get this – give me a boxing lesson. I was distracted, watching Potts and Stark, and he – Hogan, but everybody calls him Happy – started in on how I was never supposed to take my eyes off my opponent and when he started to aim a blow I just… reacted.} Natasha’s eye roll translated telepathically somehow. {I didn’t hurt him, but I sure scared the hell out of Potts. Stark just looked impressed. Maybe a little intrigued. Definitely aroused.}

Clint groaned. {You’re not supposed to tell your husband you turned another man on.}

{Why not?} Natasha answered cheekily. {It makes you go all growly on me, and I like it.}

He was silent for a moment. {You are an evil minx.}

{No arguments there, dearling. How are things on the home front? How’d it go with Maria?}

Clint fidgeted on the bare ground. With the distance between them – Nat was currently in Monaco, where Stark Industries had a formula one racer in the Grand Prix, and she was ‘facilitating’ for Stark – he needed the connection to Gaia to boost his ‘reach.’ It meant that his connection to Natasha felt thin, but also made it easier to hide emotions from her. {She left kind of abruptly. Phil thinks she’s wistful.}

{She can’t have you,} Natasha shot back immediately. {Either of you.}

He laughed aloud, causing Phil to glance at him through the kitchen window and smile. {That is exactly what I told Phil. He thinks it’s just because we have each other, and she’s single. Apparently Misty looks at us like that too, and we both know there’s no lust there.}

{Sounds like I need to have some girl bonding time with them,} Natasha said, her tone reluctant. {Maybe I can talk Catriona into a girls’ night. Pedicures, wine, and some chick flick none of us will want to admit we enjoy.}

Clint grinned. {Ten bucks says you can’t get Maria to paint her toenails.}

{You’re on, Barton.} Her attention cut out briefly. {I’m sorry, dearling, but I’ve got to get moving. Apparently the world will end if Stark doesn’t have exactly the right table at the restaurant. I consider myself lucky he’s not asking me to polish the silverware. I have no idea how Potts did this for so long, and made it look so easy.}

{I think it’s a redhead thing,} he told her solemnly. {You, Potts, Catriona – you all make it look effortless.}

{Goddess, I love you,} was her involuntary response, followed by a rush of heat that he assumed was a blush. {I love you both,} she repeated, sounding more in control that time. {And I miss you.}

{We miss you too, Sunshine.} He didn’t have any stronger words or he’d have used them, but he settled for sending a burst of emotion towards her.

She understood, if only because the words never came easily to her either. {I’ll try and check in later today, after the race, if I can get away from Stark long enough.}

{Don’t compromise yourself on my account, Romanoff,} he protested. It was mostly for form – he would probably be desperate for her contact by the time she could reach out to him again – but as her SHIELD partner, he didn’t want to see her jeopardize her mission.

{You know me better than that.} She was amused, not offended – and Clint thanked Gaia again silently for never having to wonder about the emotions behind her words. {Give Phil my love. I’ll talk to you when I can.}

Their connection faded after another wordless exchange of emotions, but Clint didn’t rise from the ground. Since he was already there, he reached out to Gaia. {Mama?}

\\\I am here, my archer.//

{I’m checking in, as ordered. Anything new to report on the Disturbance in the Force?} He folded one knee up to rest his forehead against it.

\\\Not at present. Sir Ronan can tell me no more than that there is trouble brewing on one of the other planes, not yet whether we shall see it on our own.//

Clint debated before asking, unsure of the proprieties involved. {Sir Ronan is another druid?}

He felt a surge of – irritation? Can a Goddess be irritated? – before She answered. \\\Yes. He is my astronomer. If Catriona Alanna were to refer to him, it would most likely be as the Ancient Astronomer.//

{She doesn’t really… ever… talk about the other druids,} Clint admitted cautiously. {I know the name of one – two, now – and the titles for a couple of the others, but…}

\\\At some point, I should like you to meet each of the other druids,// Gaia informed him. \\\While your initiating druid is Catriona, there may come a time when you require the skills of one of my other Druids.//

{I look forward to it,} Clint said honestly. {But…} he hesitated. {Don’t be mad at Catriona for not telling us, okay? She’s got… issues, and I get that.}

Her tone softened. \\\I am aware of her issues, as you call them, Boghdoir. I am also hopeful that her growing friendship with you, M’inion, and Treorai will ease some of those issues. I should like to see her at ease in the company of her peers once more.//

{You and me both.} Clint glanced up at the kitchen window, where Phil was watching him as he drank coffee.

\\\Go, Boghdoir. I am eternal – opportunities to speak with me are infinite. Time with your beloved is not.// He felt the soft flutter across his skin that was the closest She could come to a hug. 

{Yes, ma’am,} he answered obediently, and let his connection with her drop. He stood, brushing grass off his pants, and stepped back into the kitchen. “Natasha sends her love,” Clint told Phil, drawing closer to his husband and wrapping an arm around his waist. Phil was already dressed for the office, so Clint kept his touch intimate without being too suggestive. “And Mama says I should always take the time for you, because time with Her is infinite, and time with you is not.” He smiled up at Phil. “You really do have a Goddess as a wingman, Moonbeam.”

Phil leaned down the small distance between them and kissed Clint gently, tenderly. He tasted of coffee and smelled of Natasha’s body wash. “Thank Her for me, pretty bird,” Phil said. He set his mug of coffee down so that he could slide both arms around Clint, heedless of wrinkling his suit. “What are your plans for the day?”

“Trying to figure out a way to talk to CJ privately,” Clint sighed, tucking his head into Phil’s neck. “Mama’s orders. I have no idea how I’m going to manage that.”

“Ask Maria,” Phil suggested. “She wanted to help, last night – at least, I think she did. She could summon him for a meeting and step out.”

Clint nodded against his neck. “Good thought.” They were quiet for several more minutes before Phil reluctantly pulled away.

“Duty calls, lovebird.” Phil gave Clint one last kiss before straightening his tie and moving towards his overcoat and keys.

~ * ~

Clint figured he could waste all morning trying to corner CJ, or he could follow his husband’s advice and seek out an expert. He found the agent in her modest office, just down the hall from Phil’s, and knocked lightly. “You got a minute?” he asked, leaning against the open door.

She looked up, quirked an eyebrow, but gestured him in. He closed the door behind him and her eyebrow lifted a little farther. “What is it, Barton?”

“I’m here as Clint,” he said with a sigh. “I need a favor.”

“Already?” This time it was the corner of her lip that quirked. “You in trouble with your – husband already?” She stumbled some over the title, but Clint ignored that.

“No. I need to speak to CJ – Agent Forrester – and he’s avoiding me. He’s got reason to – he freaked out when we told the Scoobies, and it’s got to do with a bad past… something Phil and I were both aware of, and handled badly.” Clint rubbed his face. “I can’t really tell you about his past, but I can tell you it’s bad, and the way we told them – well, I can understand why he’s avoiding me. And Phil. He’d avoid Natasha too, if she were here. But the Goddess told me to talk to him, so…” Clint shrugged.

“And you always follow orders?” Maria asked. Her tone bounced between scorn and curiosity.

Clint rolled his eyes. “I follow orders from Gaia, my spouses, my partner, and my handler – in that order.”

“Huh.” Maria tilted back her chair. “Alright. I’ll get Forrester—”

“CJ,” Clint corrected.

“—up here, but you’re on your own after that.” Maria reached for her phone. “Why do you call him CJ?”

“Scoobie Squad voted for first names. I respect that.” Maria made the necessary call, her voice as brisk and efficient as always. When she hung up the phone, her focus returned to Clint. He squirmed under her scrutiny. “You got something to say?” he asked finally.

“Break his heart, and I’ll break your bones.”

Clint barked a surprised laugh. “The shovel talk, Maria? Really?” He shook his head. “Not even a creative threat.”

“May not be original, but it’s sincere.”

He was spared having to reply by a polite knocking on the door before it opened, and CJ entered. “You needed to see me, Agent Hill?” He didn’t appear to notice Clint, though the archer was sure that was deliberate.

“Come in.” She gestured for him to sit in the other visitor’s chair across from her desk – next to Clint. CJ sat with no overt sign of reluctance – or acknowledgement. Clint waited – he expected Maria to make a flimsy excuse and slip out of her office, but she surprised him. “Agent Forrester, Agent Barton – scuttlebutt has it that the two of you are having… philosophical differences.”

Clint was unable to stifle the snort, though he tried. “Yes, ma’am,” he answered. He didn’t know why, but Maria was giving him the chance to let CJ think outside forces had engineered this meeting, and he wasn’t going to waste that opportunity. “You could call it that.”

“What I’m calling it is over,” she said calmly, and rose from her desk. “I’m going for coffee. When I get back, I want whatever it is between you solved, or at least shoved out of the workplace. Understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” they answered in unison. She nodded sharply and left the office.

“So.” Clint didn’t let the silence sit long – he never could, with anyone but his spouses. “I gotta congratulate you on your avoidance skills, CJ. I’m good – you’re better.” The younger agent snorted derisively but didn’t respond otherwise. “Look, I… this fucking sucks.” He ran both hands through his hair, pulling on it in frustration.

“Yeah.” It was the first word he’d heard CJ say in days, and it came out dry and broken.

Clint lowered his hands and turned in his chair to face CJ. “I’m just going to be blunt and honest. It didn’t occur to any of us that our triad would bother you because of your past. Phil – Agent Coulson and I knew about it, and I thought Natasha did. I was wrong about that. If she’d known, she probably would have had a better way to handle it because she’s Natasha, and she’s got a solution for damned near everything.” Clint saw a flicker of amusement in CJ’s eyes. “We hadn’t put the pieces together, or we might not have told you – which Natasha tells me would have been worse.”

“Yeah,” CJ agreed. His voice was less rough this time.

“And that would be why I listen to her,” Clint said with a small smile. “I’m not expecting you to like our relationship. We aren’t expecting it. But… I was really hoping it wouldn’t ruin my chance to train the most gifted shooter to come through SHIELD since… well, since I did. I’m not trying to sway you with faint praise, CJ – you’re damned good. Even as pissed off as you are at us, if I had to pick a shooter to cover Phil or Natasha and I couldn’t do it? You’d be my next choice.”

CJ licked his lips, finally raising his eyes to meet Clint’s. “What if you needed cover?”

Clint blinked. “If I need a sniper for overwatch, you’re already my top choice. You’re better than Natasha or Phil with a rifle. I even filed it with the Director.”

That evidently surprised CJ. “You aren’t afraid I’d shoot you instead of the target?”

“No. You’re pissed off, and I don’t blame you, but you’re not homicidal. I can see you giving me a through and through in a nonfatal spot and claiming it was the only way to get the target,” Clint admitted thoughtfully.

“You’re not the one I’m mad at,” CJ replied. Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “I’m angry at Agent Coulson. Angry isn’t a strong enough word. I feel…” he looked up at the ceiling, searching his mind for the best way to phrase it. “I feel like I’ve just found out that my knight on a white horse is a peasant on a donkey.”

“Phil?” Clint shook his head. “Okay, I don’t follow. He’s… the best man I know. Always has been.”

CJ looked back down at the carpet. “He’s a charismatic authority figure who is having illicit sexual relationships with his subordinates.”

“Oh, fucking hell,” Clint breathed. When that wasn’t enough expletive, he tried several more – in different languages – until his shock and horror dimmed somewhat. “Great Goddess, CJ. None of us thought – it’s not – he didn’t –”

“Maybe he didn’t, but that’s what it looks like. What it feels like. I… had a panic attack when I got home,” he admitted. “Hadn’t had one in years, but…”

Clint swallowed hard. He fought the intense guilt before he could speak again. “How can I help you? If you need out of the squad, or you need a different trainer, or… just, name it, CJ. Goddess, I’m so sorry.”

CJ’s eyes flew to him. “I don’t want off the squad. I don’t want a different trainer,” he said quickly, emphatically. “I don’t need help.”

“Look, we fucked up – let me at least try to fix it,” Clint protested.

“You can’t,” CJ said quietly. “I’m broken, Barton. Even if it were just you and Agent Coulson – no Agent Romanoff – it would still have triggered me.”

It killed Clint to hear the same words from CJ that he heard from Natasha. “You’re not broken,” Clint said automatically, just as he did when Natasha spoke them. “Bruised. Scarred. Not broken. Goddess knows you’re not the only one.” Clint looked down into his hands, twisting his wedding ring on his finger. “Nat and I both have bad pasts – I told you a little about mine. Phil’s got some too. Hell, even Hill has shadows.”

“Yeah?” CJ asked, disbelieving.

“I’m not gonna spill their secrets any more than I’d spill yours, kid,” Clint said defensively.

“I’m not a kid.”

Clint threw up his hands, buried them in his hair and pulled. “I know that. Sweet Merciful Mother.” He rose and began pacing, still yanking at his hair. “I wasn’t trying to insult you.”

CJ watched him pace. The more upset Clint became, the more relaxed CJ felt. They hadn’t done it to hurt him – had been trying to prevent hurt, and now Clint was causing himself physical pain trying to figure out how to mend the emotional damage. It was… surprising.

“I wish I could go back to that compound and put an arrow through that bastard’s other eye, too,” Clint said viciously, kicking the edge of Maria’s desk. “One wasn’t enough. And while I’m at it, I’d like to put a few in his groin.” At CJ’s sharp intake of breath, Clint refocused onto him. “You didn’t know? I was part of the team that took down the compound – all three of us were. Nat was in a different quarter, and Phil was at tactical command… but yeah, I put an arrow through the bastard that – thought he could own you.” Clint didn’t bother to hide the shudder than went down his spine. “I didn’t put it together, until I read your file – after you were already one of the Scoobies. It’s not like I followed up on you.” He was talking faster now, almost frantically.

“Hey. Clint.” CJ shot out a hand, grabbing Clint around the wrist to stop him from pacing further. It was the first time CJ had called him by name, and that halted Clint’s movement more than the touch did. “I never said it before, because I didn’t know who to say it to – but thanks.”

Clint frowned. “For killing him?”

“Yeah.” CJ released his wrist. “I knew Coulson had been on that mission, but I didn’t realize you and Romanoff – Natasha – had been. I recognized Coulson – Phil – when he recruited me. I should have put it together, when I met you – doubt there are any other SHIELD operatives that favor a bow, and I definitely will not forget the sight of an arrow sprouting from his eye.”

Clint felt his legs go weak and dropped back into the chair. “You were the… the person he was… occupied with?” Clint asked weakly. At CJ’s nod, Clint swallowed. Twice. “You’re thanking me for dropping his dead body onto you?”

“Yeah, I am.” Something in CJ’s voice had relaxed, and Clint realized that the tension in the air was… not gone, but certainly lessened. “Look, I can’t say I’m magically okay with you and the other two having your… whatever. Triad. But I’m also not going to cause trouble for the people who got me out of there. And I’m definitely not going to cause problems for you – because the sight of an arrow going into his eye – knowing beyond a shadow of a doubt that he would never come for me – that’s what kept me from putting a bullet in my brain. So.” CJ stood. “I’m probably going to flinch around Phil and Natasha and Clint for a while, but I’ve got no fear of Agents Coulson, Barton, and Romanoff.” He extended his right hand. “Truce?”

Clint seized his hand, shaking it firmly and gratefully. “Truce.” Then, because he couldn’t help himself, he and gave CJ a brief one armed hug and a hand squeeze on his shoulder.

 

~ * ~


	13. Chapter 13

She was only days into the job, and she was already thoroughly tired of being Natalie Rushman.

This was the first op she’d been assigned to since her Choosing that required her to be undercover more than a day or two – and she was rapidly discovering that while her skill at dissembling was as sharp as ever, her inclination was no longer to enjoy it. She wanted the job done, so that she could go home to her husbands.

As a result of her distraction – well, things had gotten interesting.

Somehow, Stark had gotten away from her in Monaco long enough to put himself behind the wheel of a Formula One racer. Potts’ reaction to that news – and the look she’d leveled at Natalie – convinced Natasha that she never wanted to be on that formidable woman’s hit list. She’d obeyed the CEO’s orders as swiftly as she would have Stark’s – maybe more – and thought the situation had been downgraded from catastrophic to merely disastrous… until she caught sight of the hostile enemy lashing cars, drivers, and anything in between with wicked looking whips.

She was rooted to the spot, staring at the TV monitor near the ceiling. She didn’t hear Potts, didn’t notice her leaving – didn’t hear the crowd’s screams. All she heard was the memory of leather hitting flesh, and the obscene sing of pain across her skin – then the feel of the leather handle in her own hand, being urged to use it against others, as they had used it against her.

She fled the memories more than the crowd. By the time she made it out of the building she’d broken into a sweat and her breath sobbed in her chest. Uncaring of who saw or what they thought, she pulled her fashionable heels off and sank onto the first bare ground she spotted.

\\\M’inion, you are safe,// Gaia said immediately. \\\Breathe in, my daughter. Yes. Now out, slowly.// Natasha obeyed the Goddess, focusing on her breathing rather than her memories.

{Nat?} Clint’s voice was weak – as it had been this morning – but it was there, and she clung to even the touch of his mind. {Sunshine, what’s going on?}

{Turn on a TV.}

{What channel?}

{Trust me, it doesn’t matter.} Natasha laid down on the patch of grass, curling into a fetal position. She knew she was getting grass stains on her dress and potentially giving passersby a look at her underwear, giving the length of her skirt, but she couldn’t bring herself to care. Goddess, she wished she was home.

{Holy crap,} Clint’s awed voice cut through her desperation. {Who the hell is that guy?} His touch was stronger – he’d exited the building and headed to the obstacle course as the nearest strong connection to Gaia.

{I have no idea. I expect we’ll find out.}

Clint was silent a moment, watching the video on his cell phone. He tapped out a message to Phil before returning his full attention to Natasha and Gaia. {I can’t tell what’s upset you – just that you are. Apparently, strongly enough for me to feel three stories up and a lot of miles away.}

{Whips,} Natasha managed to say, but couldn’t elaborate without undoing all of the breathing exercises Gaia had coached her through.

When it became obvious that Natasha could not continue, Gaia stepped in and fed the memory that haunted Natasha to Clint’s mind. He recoiled, swearing. It wasn’t one instance, but several – receiving and giving lashes that were punishment and instruction – a voice patiently coaching her how best to cause pain without leaving permanent marks – another urging an unseen hand to use the leather against Natasha. {Where are you? Are you safe?}

\\\She is safe,// Gaia told him, in the same calm tone She used on Natasha. \\\She is outdoors, on the grass of a parking meridian.//

{Phil’s asking if your cover is intact. Do you want me to hit him for you?} Clint asked. Phil had joined him as quickly as he could exit his office and the building, coming to him on the obstacle course, heedless of the dust gathering on his highly polished shoes.

{It’s intact, but I should… I should go find Stark.} She sounded calmer, but was still shivering against the ground. Each word from Clint dulled the echo in her ears, but she could still hear it. {Don’t be mad at Phil, he’s just trying to get me to think instead of feel.}

After a moment, she felt Gaia’s connection deepen, and another voice in her mind. {Is it working?} Phil asked.

Knowing Gaia had to be facilitating this contact, Natasha felt tears of gratitude leak out, spilling onto her hair. {Yes. Hearing you is better.}

{I’ll have you know that in order to do so, I’m clinging to Clint like a barnacle beneath that pine tree in the obstacle course.} Phil’s mental voice was dryly amused. {I trust you’ll forgive us for fraternizing on SHIELD property without you.}

{Just this once,} she agreed. She wiped at the tears on her face, taking another deep breath. {I’m sorry. I wasn’t expecting… I can normally control my reactions better than that.}

{No apologies for what was done to you,} Clint reminded her firmly. {Or what they made you do,} he continued quickly, when he could sense her rebuttal.

{I’m assuming this means BDSM is off the table?} Phil asked lightly.

Natasha found a laugh bubbling up, small but genuine nonetheless. {Afraid so, loverling. Sorry to disappoint.} 

{Don’t mistake relief for disappointment,} Phil said, and she could feel his smile. {I don’t think leather and latex would be a good look for me.}

Clint had to swallow, unable to prevent the picture of Phil in leather pants from forming in his brain. It wasn’t the first time that he’d shared a fantasy with Natasha – it was the first time he’d done it with Phil, though. Natasha hummed appreciatively at the mental picture. {Don’t be embarrassed, dearling,} she urged Clint. He marveled that, in the midst of one of her worst panic attacks in years, she took time to chide him for being self-conscious. {Leather pants aren’t off the table, loverling. I think you’d look delicious.}

{Thank you,} Phil said, choosing to accept the compliment rather than brush it off. Telepathically, there was no mistaking their genuine attraction – no sense of being teased. He pulled Clint closer against him, wishing he could somehow hold Natasha as well.

{I have to pull myself together and go be Natalie,} Natasha said reluctantly. {At least running for your life is a reasonable reaction in this situation. No need to explain.}

{Call home, when you can, alright love?} Phil asked. {My head’s starting to ache, I need to let you go for now.}

{I love you both,} Natasha responded, and was reassured to hear it back from both her husbands. The connection dropped, though Gaia was still present in her mind.

\\\Are you fit to continue, m’inion, or shall I send you a druid?//

Natasha didn’t bother to try and shield her gratitude from the Goddess. {I’ll manage. Thank you, for letting me hear Phil. I realize that isn’t… usual.}

\\\I have learned that ‘usual’ does not apply to you, my archer, or your treorai,// Gaia responded dryly.

~ * ~

“Can I bum a cup of Catriona’s headache tea off you, Moonbeam?” Clint asked once they were safely behind Phil’s closed office door.

“Only if you don’t talk so loud,” Phil told him with a half-smile, moving to make tea for them both. It was something akin to the pain of a pulled muscle – not quite the same as his usual solstice headaches, but similar enough that he had faith the tea would work on it as well. “When you speak to Gaia again, please convey my thanks.”

“I did, and I will,” Clint agreed, dropping heavily onto the couch. Phil brought over a mug of tea, steaming fragrantly, and handed it to him. “Thanks.”

Phil settled onto the couch next to him, resting his own mug on one knee, and tilted his head back onto the headrest. “I’d say anytime, but I’d be lying.” He closed his eyes, taking a sip of tea. “As honored as I am that Gaia would allow me to hear Her, and to talk to Natasha…”

“It fucking hurts. Yeah. I got that.” Clint closed his eyes too. “I think She was sparing Natasha from a headache by putting more of the burden on us – does that make sense?”

“Yes, and sounds entirely likely.” Phil laced his fingers through Clint’s and propped his feet up on the coffee table. “Goddess, I wish we could just go home.” It was barely nine o’clock in the morning, in their time zone – early afternoon, where Natasha was. Unfortunately, the chances that either of them would be out of SHIELD on time was slim – early was unthinkable. Phil was sure that the director would require him for Stark-damage-control soon, and Clint had field training with the Scoobies and several hours of intel to go over.

“Did you lock the door?” Clint asked, twining his hand in Phil’s as well, pressing his wedding ring against Phil’s palm.

“No.” Phil sighed and drank more tea. “I suppose that means I should let go.” He made no move to do so. They sat with eyes closed, holding hands and sipping tea, as Clint reported on his conversation with CJ. By the end of his explanation, Phil felt enough better to open his eyes and set his empty mug on the coffee table next to their feet. “At some point in the future, I’d like to apologize to him,” Phil said, leaning into Clint’s arm as he settled back again. “I should have thought of it.”

“Even you aren’t omniscient, Moonbeam,” Clint told him with a sigh. 

There was a knock on the door, and both men groaned as they separated their hands and moved slightly farther apart on the couch. “Come in,” Phil said, loudly enough to be heard through the door.

“I should have known I’d find both of you in here,” Maria said, shutting the door behind her. “Romanoff make it through that mess okay?” She didn’t need to specify which mess – every channel was replaying clips of the ‘Whiplash vs. Iron Man’ duel from the Monaco Grand Prix.

“Yeah,” Clint said, though it sounded hollow even to himself. He rubbed his right hand down his face, reaching for Phil with his left.

Phil took his hand, glancing once at Maria to see if she was going to make an issue of it. She shook her head minutely. Phil ran his fingers along Clint’s wedding band. “What brings you to my office, Maria?” he asked.

It took her a moment to decide on an answer – long enough that Clint opened his eyes again to look at her warily. “She’s my friend, too,” Maria said finally, quietly.

“I’m sorry,” Clint said immediately. “I didn’t – I wasn’t thinking.”

Maria crossed to the coffee table and sat down next to Clint’s feet. “I think I like married Clint. You beg, you apologize, you thank. It’s pretty awesome.”

“I’ll teach him manners yet,” Phil said with a grin.

“Or your mom will,” Clint agreed readily. “It’s nice to know we aren’t the only people worrying about her, Maria.”

“I was worried about you too,” she admitted. “Both of you.” She wouldn’t meet either of their eyes when she said it, and her fingers twitched where they were resting on her knee. 

There was another knock at the door, and Phil sighed. Maria gestured for them to stay where they were and opened the door a crack. “Agent Hill?” was the surprised query. Phil recognized Misty’s voice and gestured for Maria to let her in. As soon as the door was closed again, Misty made her way over to the couch and hugged Phil tightly. “Natasha’s okay, right, sensei? Of course she is, she’s badass. Are you okay? And you, cuz?” She flung an arm around Clint as well, reaching over Phil to do so. Maria’s eyebrows shot up.

“Natasha is fine, grasshopper,” Phil soothed automatically. He let her cling for a moment longer before gently pushing her away.

She sat on the other side of their feet on the coffee table. “I came as soon as I heard.” She looked at Maria, then back to Phil and Clint – and their joined hands.

“She knows,” Phil answered the unspoken question, smiling at Misty. “Apparently, when agents flee the shooting range because a protective archer with an overactive imagination has been firing arrows constantly for three hours, it catches Hill’s attention. Thankfully, she let me explain over dinner.”

“Ohhh… you cooked and didn’t invite me? How rude, sensei.”

“Actually, I cooked,” Clint said with a grin. “It was out of Diane’s cookbook, though.” Maria watched the conversation, feeling out of place. Phil, ever the observant one, nudged Clint who looked more closely at Maria. Clint used the toe of one boot to nudge Maria’s hip in turn. “You liked it, right? I’m not as good a cook as Phil is, but…”

Maria’s smile was sudden and amused. “It was good.” She did like married Clint, she realized. There were fewer walls up between him and the world now. 

Misty looked sideways at her, a wry grin on her face. “You’re doing that thing I did. After Sensei told me, I ran through like, every time I’d ever seen them together, and couldn’t believe I hadn’t seen it before.”

The grammar was questionable, but the comment rang true nonetheless. Maria smiled at Misty, letting down a few of her own walls. The young blonde was difficult not to like, and her affection for Clint and Phil was endearing. “I’ve known them longer, it’s going to take me awhile to self-analyze it all.”

Phil’s cell phone rang, and he answered it automatically. “Yes, sir. Yes, I saw the footage – no, sir.” Phil rolled his eyes, squeezing Clint’s hand even as his voice remained completely professional. “I’ll be up momentarily.” He ended the call and slid the phone back into his pocket. “Sorry, pretty bird,” he said, and leaned over to kiss Clint gently. “I’ve got to go try to put out fires.”

Clint was surprised at the kiss, in front of Maria and Misty, but certainly had no objections. “Don’t get singed,” he joked, though his eyes were serious. “And take a stash of tea with you, please… in case the headache comes back.”

“Yes, dear,” Phil smiled when he said it, adding a second gentle kiss before he rose, stepping around Misty to get to his desk, retrieve some tea, and slip into his suit jacket.

~ * ~


	14. Chapter 14

“Come on, cuz,” Misty ordered, reaching for Clint’s hand and hauling him up off the couch. “If I leave you here, you’re just going to stress. Let’s go shoot something.”

Maria, behind Misty, felt her eyes go wide again at the casual bond between them. She wasn’t sure if it was just surprise… there may have been jealousy there, too. She’d know Barton – Clint – a lot longer, but she’d never been that comfortable with him. Clint saw her expression and smiled wryly. “Don’t mind the grasshopper,” he said in a stage whisper. Misty rolled her eyes at the nickname. “If she can’t fuss over her Sensei, she’ll fuss over me or Natasha.”

“She got a cute nickname for you, too?” Maria asked before she could stop herself.

“Cuz. Cousin,” Clint elaborated, when Maria didn’t seem to make the connection. “Natasha has a habit of adopting family members. Catriona’s our little sister – Misty’s our baby cousin.”

“I am not a baby,” Misty told him, with a petulant toss of her hair.

“Right,” Clint agreed, his eyes twinkling. “You want to tag along, Maria?”

He knew, the moment the words were out of his mouth, that he’d said the wrong thing. Maria’s eyes shuttered and she gave him a polite, professional smile. “No, thank you. If Coulson’s tied up with the Director, I’ll need to pick up the senior agent slack.”

“Of course,” Clint agreed reluctantly. He knew he’d screwed up – though he wasn’t sure how to fix it. He’d talk to his spouses about it, later. “Come on, Buffy. I need range time.”

As they walked down to the range, Misty bumped her shoulder against him. “That was dumb,” she whispered.

“What was?” He didn’t whisper back, seeing as they were alone.

“Asking her to tag along. Seriously, Barton. You ever been invited to ‘tag along’ and been happy about it?” Misty shouldered him again, scowling. Clint sighed. Apparently he wasn’t going to get to save that conversation for his spouses after all. He rubbed a hand across his face and up into his hair, tugging absently. Misty wrapped her fingers around his wrist and pulled his hand back down. “Sorry. Forgot about the whole Litha thing. Pretend I didn’t nag.”

“It’s not just that,” Clint told her, voice quiet. “I talked to CJ this morning, too.” He gave her the short version as they entered the range – they had it to themselves for the time being. “I’ve just… had a long day, already, and it’s not even lunchtime.”

Misty tilted her head to one side and appraised him. He looked worn. Phil had, too. Neither of them was handling Natasha’s absence well, and the incident this morning was making it worse. Add a charged conversation with CJ and what was apparently a pretty bad headache for both of them – yeah, she could sympathize. “What can I do?” she asked, all joking set aside.

He closed his eyes briefly, leaning back against a stall divider. “You’re doing it.” He shrugged one shoulder. “Keep me busy. Useful. I want to spend some time with the Scoobies, focus on their specialties.”

“I asked them to give you some space,” she said hesitantly.

“Yeah, Phil thought so.” Clint opened his eyes, smiling a little. “For future reference, I thought they were all avoiding me maliciously. What you did makes perfect sense… if you aren’t on an emotional roller coaster already.”

“Shit. I’m sorry.” She caught one of his hands and squeezed it briefly. “I didn’t think of that.”

“You have much to learn, young grasshopper.”

Misty shoved at him, laughing. He’d done his best Wise Man voice, and it made them both laugh. “Okay, okay… no rough housing on the range or Natasha will find a way to kick my ass from Monaco,” Misty said, catching her breath. “You said you wanted to shoot. Arrows or bullets?”

“Both?”

Misty narrowed her eyes at him. “If you can do both at once, I’ll do the dishes next time I eat at the dojo.”

~ * ~

“That shouldn’t count,” Misty protested as they packed away the weapons they had used and tidied the range. They weren’t alone in it anymore, but it wasn’t crowded. “I didn’t even know there were crossbows in the armory. And technically, they shoot a bolt – not an arrow.”

Clint grinned at her. “Summers, don’t be a sore loser.” His use of her surname unexpectedly grated at her. He must have seen it in her eyes. “Don’t worry, if it had been wooden stakes, you’d have won.”

She groaned. “Are you ever going to run out of Buffy jokes?”

“Nope,” he said, snapping the word with a cheeky grin. Someone stifled a chuckle and he looked up, eyes wary.

“It’s just Chuckles,” Misty reassured him.

The former Marine wrinkled his nose as Misty but didn’t protest the nickname. “You got time, Barton? I was hoping you’d go over a couple of throws with me.”

Clint snapped shut the case he’d been using and slid it onto the shelf. “Sure.” Then he pinned Misty with a sharp look. “Taking turns, are you?” There was no apology in her face when Misty nodded. Clint hoped she could see the gratitude in his eyes, because he didn’t want to say it aloud. “Let’s head up to the ring. Any chance Sam can pull free, too?”

“Already waiting,” Chuck confirmed.

“It’s no wonder Agent Coulson paired you two up,” Clint told them, shaking his head in amazement. “What, do you read each other’s minds?”

Misty rolled her eyes and held up her cell phone. “Texting, Barton. You should try it. All the cool kids do it.” Chuck didn’t bother to stifle his amusement this time, shaking his head at them. She flashed him a hand sign that Clint didn’t recognize, and then left the range with a cheery wave.

“What was that about?” Clint asked.

Chuck raised his eyebrows. “You.” He gestured for the senior agent to precede him, but didn’t argue when Clint gestured imperiously for Chuck to go first. Normally, having one of the Scoobies at his back didn’t bother Clint, but today… today, everything bothered him.

Once changed into one of his workout suits, Clint leaned up against the corner of the ring, watching Sam and Chuck size each other up. At first glance, they didn’t look like an even pairing – Sam was built a lot like Natasha, and Chuck could probably pose as a linebacker without question. Sam’s skills, though, were top notch – her speed and agility gave her an edge against larger opponents. Chuck had a tendency to rely on his size to intimidate, and was still hesitant in bouts against his squadmates, particularly the ladies. Except, of course, Natasha. The first time he’d pulled a punch on her, she’d made him spend the rest of the training session referring to her as ‘your Imperial Majesty’ and literally kissing the floor beneath her feet.

“Hey, Sam, is he still pulling punches?” Clint asked casually. Chuck scowled at him.

“Nope,” she answered. “Romanoff gave us permission to use her tactics as needed.”

“Have you had to use them?”

Her grin was feral. “Just once.”

Chuck growled at them both. “Can’t blame a man for being taught to respect women.”

“Respect ‘em by treating them like equals,” Clint told him.

“Easy for you to say.”

Clint’s eyes narrowed and he straightened from his casual pose. Alarm flashed across Chuck’s face, and something close to panic across Sam’s. “What’s that supposed to mean?” Clint asked.

“You’ve had what, five years partnered with Romanoff? That’s a long time to get used to getting your ass handed to you by what my mother would call a ‘pretty young thing,’” Chuck answered. “I’ve worked with women, but never so many that were equally deadly and appealing.” Sam breathed a sigh of relief when Clint relaxed.

“Yeah, the ones that make it through SHIELD training tend to be both,” Clint admitted. He eyed Sam. “We can make that part of your weapons work. Or rather, Romanoff can – I’m not allowed to teach the sashay anymore.”

“Do I wanna know?” Sam asked, one eyebrow quirking up.

Clint chuckled. “Ask her, sometime. She loves to tell the story.” He shook his head. “That same mission, she got me banned from wearing mesh shirts. I liked those.”

Sam resolved to ask Natasha as soon as possible.

“Okay. Show me the throw that’s throwing you,” Clint said to Chuck, gesturing for him to approach Sam. Clint watched them carefully, not immediately seeing the flaw – but every time, Chuck wound up on his ass instead of Sam. “Can you pull it off against anyone else?” he asked, circling them.

“Lancelot,” Chuck told him. “Don’t know if that counts.”

Clint rolled his eyes. “He’s not that bad. He’s had six months with us, he’s not a complete pushover.” He watched Chuck try to throw again, this time shooting his hand out to still their movement. “Wait. You’re supposed to grab the pressure point there, you’re an inch too high.”

Chuck looked at his hand on Sam’s thigh. “You’re joking.”

“Nope.” Clint repositioned Chuck’s hand, adjusting his grip until his thumb was over the correct spot. “You have to watch out for the curve, when you’re fighting a woman,” Clint explained. He touched the same point on his own thigh, then Sam’s again. “It’s relative, you can’t just assume it’s three inches above her knee just because it’s three inches above yours.”

“You weren’t kidding about them being a weapon, were you?” Chuck grumbled, but he tried the throw again – and Sam hit the mat with a satisfying thunk.

“Damn, you got it that time, Chuckles… I like it better when the tingles are for another reason,” Sam said, shaking out her leg. 

“No fun tingles in the ring,” Clint said automatically. They both raised eyebrows at him, eerily in unison. “Um… I hear that a lot,” he murmured. Sam, still on her back on the mat, started to laugh. He offered her a hand up which she took, shaking her head. “Did I cross a line?” he asked her quietly when she stood.

“Far from it,” she reassured him, clapping him on the back. “Believe it or not, knowing…” she flicked her eyes to his ring, “makes it easier. I don’t wonder about your intentions.”

“I should hope not,” Clint said fervently. “Did you, before? I mean, am I… did I make you uncomfortable?” 

Sam and Chuck exchanged a glance and Clint thought he saw another hand signal. “Not uncomfortable,” Sam corrected. “More… confused.”

“Would AC mind if we moved this conversation to his office?” Chuck asked, looking up from his cell phone. Clint hadn’t noticed him taking it out.

“I doubt it. Let me get changed.” Clint dressed mechanically, Sam’s words circling in his head. He hadn’t been treating her any differently than any of the other Scoobies, had he? No. But…

Chuck threw a towel – thankfully dry – at him, to get his attention. “Come on.” Clint followed him, brows still furrowed. Sam met them outside the locker rooms and led the way up to the admin floor and Phil’s office. Chuck opened the door, ushered them in, and closed it behind him.

Clint sat down on the couch automatically, looking up at Sam. “Okay. Plain talk now?” he asked, almost pleading. Sam flashed Chuck another sign, and he nodded. “Damn it, cut it out. Now I know how people feel when Nat and I do that.”

“Sorry.” Sam sat down in one of the visitor chair’s in front of Phil’s desk. “You’re the one that taught us.”

“For the field, not to use against me!” he protested.

“It’s not against you,” Chuck corrected. “About you, not against you. We’re trying to help, Clint.”

The use of his first name cut all his anger out from under him, and Clint sagged back into the couch. “I know.” He rubbed his face with his hands, pressing the heels into his eyes.

“Headache back?” Chuck asked.

“Yes.” This is what comes of trusting people, Clint realized – suddenly there were people in his life that actually cared about the answer to that question. Misty must have told Chuck about the headache when she briefed him – apparently via text message – and handed over Clint. Now coming back up to Phil’s office made more sense – that’s where the headache tea lived. 

“I’ll make it,” Chuck told him, before he could rise.

“I’m not an invalid,” Clint protested.

“There’s not much else we can do to help, Barton. Let us do this.” Sam’s voice was quiet, but firm. Clint recognized the silken steel behind it, though – he’d heard the same tone from Laura, and from Natasha – and from Catriona, now that he thought about it. He raised his hands in admission of defeat, and she nodded. “Thank you.” She waited until Chuck handed Clint a mug of tea before she continued speaking. “You don’t touch us like most people.”

“Us being the women, or all the Scoobies?”

“All of us,” Chuck said, sitting in the chair next to Sam. “And yeah, we’ve talked about it. Romanoff touches different too, but they aren’t the same different, you know what I mean?”

“Not really.”

Sam sighed. “Romanoff’s touch is… one step above professional. There’s no emotional connection, she could just as easily be moving androids around. Which is one hundred percent okay,” Sam added hastily, at Clint’s frown. “I’ve had trainers with wandering hands, and awkward hands, or even angry hands – impersonal is great.”

“Yours, though…” Chuck began. He shook his head. “This is going to sound bad, so bear with me. You touch like family.”

Clint froze in place, mug half raised to his lips. In his mind, he was screaming for Phil or Natasha or Gaia or someone because he couldn’t – he didn’t – 

“Crap,” Sam said, taking in his expression. “Clint. Look at me. Breathe.”

Chuck picked up his phone again. Clint couldn’t focus on him to tell who he was talking to – he was just trying to keep from complete melt down. If he hadn’t already exhausted whatever mental muscles telepathy used, he might have been able to reach Gaia, but as it was he was stuck in his own head, too far from the ground to hear Mama, too far from Natasha to hear his Sunshine, and – 

The office door opened and Phil stepped in, closing it behind him and locking the deadbolt. He crossed to Clint without even looking at Chuck and Sam, taking the mug of tea from Clint’s frozen hand and setting it aside. He sat down next to his husband, forcing the tense body to relax into him. “Easy, pretty bird,” Phil murmured in his ear. “I’m here. It’s alright.” He kept up a reassuring babble of nonsense until he felt Clint go lax against him.

“I don’t touch like family,” Clint said to Phil. He didn’t look at either of the Scoobies, keeping his eyes on his husband. “I don’t. I don’t touch like Barney. I’d never…”

Phil soothed him with a kiss to the temple. “That’s not the kind of family they meant, love,” Phil told him.

Chuck, who’d paled considerably the longer it took Clint to calm himself, sat up abruptly. “Jesus. You thought I meant… oh, damn.” Now it was Chuck’s turn to scrub at his face. “I’m a moron. I didn’t know.”

“It’s not like we advertise our pasts,” Phil told him with some humor, even as he brushed Clint’s hair back from his temple. “Just happens his notion of family was closer to Manson than Brady, until recently.”

Clint pressed his face into Phil’s neck. “All I could think of was Dad, and Barney.”

“I know, love.” Phil closed his eyes, his heart hurting for his husband. “Think of Laura, and Cooper, and Lila. Think of Rose and Lily, of Sarah and Iris.” He continued to name members of his family as Clint relaxed.

“I’m sorry,” Clint began, and Phil shook him gently.

“No apologizing for what was done to you, remember?” Phil told him.

Clint grunted. “I hate it when you use my words against me.” He sat back, able now to put some distance between himself and Phil, looking over at the Scoobies. “I do get to apologize for scaring you, though.”

“Scared for you, not of you,” Sam told him firmly.

“Can the next breakdown be yours, Phil?” Clint asked plaintively.

Phil chuckled, curling his arm around Clint’s shoulders. “I suppose it is my turn, but let’s do it at home – if you think they are traumatized now, imagine how they’d be if they saw me fall apart.”

“We’re not traumatized, and he didn’t fall apart.” Chuck’s voice was low but as firm as Sam’s had been. “We don’t need an explanation – though we’re willing to listen if you want to talk – but you have to let me explain what I meant, because I definitely do not want you leaving this room thinking that we think – that way – about you.”

“When you help us – when you teach us – when you touch us – there’s trust and affection there that most of us associate with our parents or siblings,” Sam explained. “Aunts and uncles, cousins. It isn’t a bad thing. It’s… weird, but not a bad weird.”

“Why is it weird?” Clint asked. “What am I doing wrong?”

“You aren’t doing anything wrong,” Phil said, kissing him again because he couldn’t stand the lost look on Clint’s face. “Remember how it felt, the first time you hugged Catriona? And it was weird, because it wasn’t weird?” Clint nodded slowly, remembering that first sensation. “You’ve given that to the Scoobies, love.”

“I have?”

Sam and Chuck nodded in unison, both looking serious.

“When I said I wanted to co-parent, this isn’t what I had in mind,” Clint murmured. 

~ * ~


	15. Chapter 15

The next five days felt like a new kind of torture to Natasha.

She was back in the US, though in Malibu and therefore not with her husbands. At least being on the same continent made her telepathic contact with Clint stronger… but she wanted to go home, to be safe in bed with her husbands. 

Instead, she was readying for a birthday party – one Stark seemed pretty convinced would be his last. Natasha may not like Stark, but she also didn’t like to think about the vacuum his death would leave in the global technology industry. Stark Industries may not make weapons anymore, but they made damned near everything else – a lot of it coming straight out of the mind of that erratic, brilliant man.

She didn’t have a much better read on Stark now than she had at their first meeting. It was time to up the ante. If being his assistant wasn’t enough to get his attention, she’d have to use… other means. Ruthlessly she stomped on the part of her conscience that protested flirting with a man not her husband – this was her job. It wasn’t as though she was going to sleep with him.

{Damn right, you’re not,} she heard Clint say in her mind, and the relief at his contact made her giddy. {You doing okay, Sunshine?}

{Better now,} she said honestly. {I didn’t think you’d want to hang out in my head while I do this but… I’m really glad you’re there.}

She felt a warmth that was probably his smile, and took what felt like her first deep breath in hours. {Phil’s here with me, too. And guess what? Our favorite hacker got us a feed into the party. So we’ve got eyes, ears, and brains on you.}

{Kiss Angie for me, would you?} Natasha said, sinking into the nearest chair. {Goddess, I wish you were here. Just knowing you’re watching is better. How did we do this for so long, dearling?}

{Phil says if anyone kisses Angie, it’ll be him – on the forehead. And I have no idea how you did it. I did it by pretending that I wasn’t hopelessly in love with you.}

She chuckled. {Yeah. That worked out so well.}

{I’m not complaining.}

Feeling self-conscious, she kissed her fingers and blew a kiss out into the room. Without knowing where the cameras were, she couldn’t target it at him – but he’d know it was for him all the same. {You know, I got a look at him in the boxing ring…} she began, humor infusing her mental voice to be sure that he didn’t misconstrue. {And I’ve got to tell you… for a man who relies on a suit of armor, he’s got some pretty impressive upper body strength.}

Unadulterated shock vibrated through their link. {Are you telling me you like his biceps better?!} Clint demanded indignantly.

Natasha couldn’t entirely stifle her laughter, though she hoped it looked like she was amused at something in the room and not talking to herself. {No, dearling. I like them, and they’re lovely to look at, but yours are better.} Then he felt her smile deviously. {Since I can’t run my hands up yours, I’ll have to make do with second best.}

{You are an evil minx,} Clint told her sternly. She tilted her head back and laughed, and he was struck dumb briefly by her beauty. Having not laid eyes on her for a few days, the sight of her was exquisite – and he wished he could reach through the screen and touch the neck she bared as she laughed.

{I love you too,} she told him, her laughter dying away and a tender expression forming on her face. {I wish the video went both ways. I didn’t think this would be so hard, with the telepathy.} She didn’t want him to hear how much she doubted her ability to do this again – how much she wanted to march in Fury’s office and tell him solo missions were off the table.

{Phil says whatever you’re thinking of doing, don’t.} Clint’s voice was gentle enough that she thought he’d probably caught the edges of her notion, even though she’d tried to block him. {When someday comes, we’ll do it together.}

{Right.} She sighed. {Someday.} That notion wasn’t as comforting as usual – maybe because between now and someday, she had to convince Tony Stark she was interested in him personally and not professionally.

Ever the dutiful assistant, she entered Stark’s quarters with a selection of watches – and really, who needed that many watches – and mixed him a drink. Clint scoffing in her ear enabled her to make a flirty innuendo – Phil’s encouragement through him made her capable of touching up the makeup on Stark’s fading bruise.

Their presence did color the answer to his question. If this was the last birthday party she was ever going to have, what would she do?

Yes, she’d do whatever she wanted to do, with whoever she wanted to do it with. He probably thought that was permission to act like the drunken playboy the media portrayed him as, but the picture in her head – the memory she clung fiercely to – was of sitting in the living room at the Rainbow Inn, cuddled onto a makeshift mattress with more people who loved her than she’d ever had in her life, and knowing that there were more, too, just waiting.

She didn’t think he’d understand a cuddle pile in front of ‘How the Grinch Stole Christmas’ being exactly what she wanted.

She kept the promise of someday forefront in her mind as she greeted Stark’s guests, played the charming hostess, and sashayed towards Stark with suggestion in her eyes and invitation on her hips. He was already deep into his extensive liquor collection – deep enough to let one hand slip to the small of her back, but not deep enough, apparently, to do more than that in front of his guests.

{I can’t decide if I’m relieved or offended,} Natasha admitted to Clint.

{Be relieved. Did you see the glare Pepper shot you? Someone’s laid claim, and I wouldn’t want her mad at me.} Natasha could feel Clint shudder theatrically, even telepathically. {It’s no wonder none of his flings last, if they all get that look.}

{Speaking of Pepper…} Natalie began, watching the newly-minted CEO of Stark Industries try to end the party gracefully. She was edging through the crowd, headed towards the microphone wielding Stark – who’d seized it from Pepper as soon as he could – when things got more interesting.

“There’s the door” was apparently Stark-language for “let’s blow a big ass hole through the wall.”

{Nat. Get out of there,} Clint said in her mind, and no longer did he sound amused or entertained. {This isn’t your husband speaking, this isn’t even your partner speaking. Warrior to warrior. Get the fuck out of there, get to Gaia, and then get to a safe house.}

She didn’t bother to argue. She slipped off her shoes as soon as she was out on the grass – mindful of the broken glass now scattered every-fucking-where – and hopped awkwardly to tear holes into her nylons. She’d never considered how difficult it would be to bare her feet in stockings, but she was regretting them now. {Gaia?}

\\\I am here, M’inion. Boghdoir is right, you must extricate yourself from the situation immediately, and report to your director. Your charge’s behavior of this eve is worrisome, and must be dealt with.//

By the time Colonel Rhodes had joined the party – and turned it from a party into a duel – Natasha was halfway to a SHIELD safehouse.

~ * ~

She’d followed protocol this time – calling in her location, reporting the erratic behavior and violence to Director Fury, accepting his orders to wait for him at a location tomorrow morning – before she was able to give in to her personal feelings.

Natasha didn’t really care about the risks right now as she brought up a videochat with Clint and Phil. She needed her husbands. If she couldn’t have them wrapping their arms around her, she at least needed to see them.

“Hey, Sunshine,” Clint greeted as his face appeared on the screen. Natasha breathe slipped out and she touched the screen with her fingers.

“Hi,” she answered eloquently.

“Are you safe?” Phil asked from beside Clint. He still had on his suit and tie – Natasha could see they were at home, but it didn’t look like they’d changed clothes yet.

“Yeah.” Natasha blinked slowly, tension uncoiling from her spine. “Food in this safehouse isn’t really up to your code, loverling,” she told Phil. “You’ve spoiled me.”

He grinned. “All part of my devious plan to make sure you never leave me,” he said lightly.

“I’d call it very successful, then,” Natasha assured him. “Have I missed any more drama?”

Clint shook his head. “Nope. All quiet on the home front – well, as quiet as SHIELD gets. I’ve been dragging Angie and Lancelot with me to the intel section – Lance makes those leaps of intuition Phil does, if you spread out enough information in front of him.”

“It’s not intuition,” Phil corrected with a put-upon sigh. “It’s—”

“Logic too fast to follow,” Natasha finished for him. She was smiling at them, easing herself into a comfortable position where she could see them clearly and the camera would give them a good view of her as well. “How are the Scoobies?”

“Impertinent as usual.” Phil tucked his arm around Clint, a beer in his other hand. If Natasha wanted normalcy, they’d do their best to give it to her – it was the most they could do to comfort her from home.

Natasha did want the normalcy – she wanted the mundane details, the witty barbs that got traded in the ring, the harmless pranks that had been played. She was surprised to find that she missed the Scoobies, but Clint’s remark earlier in the week that it felt like they’d adopted the whole team had made her realize that they were more than just her recruits now – they were her friends. Family, even.

“Misty threw Maria again in sparring this afternoon,” Clint piped up. He’d let her finish her thought – though the audible silence probably hadn’t been long enough for Phil to notice – before he spoke again. “Agent Hill looked pissed. Maria looked proud.”

“I wonder when it will no longer seem strange, how many roles and titles each of us plays,” Phil pondered, gazing at something Natasha couldn’t see. 

“Strange is normal for us, loverling,” Natasha told him. There was a playful tone to her words, but her eyes were serious. “I wish you were here, or I was there,” she admitted after a long pause.

“You’ll see me tomorrow, at least briefly,” Phil told her. “I’m flying across with the Director. I’m not sure what plans he has for me, but I expect I’ll find out.”

Natasha smiled, and it softened her whole face. “I look forward to it.”

“I couldn’t talk him into sending me,” Clint admitted. “I did try, Sunshine – but I expect it’s Stark-wrangling he wants help with, and Phil’s a better choice for that. I’d probably just get pissed and shoot him.”

She laughed. “I’ve been tempted. Especially tonight.” She sobered, thinking of the destruction she’d seen in his Malibu home. “I wish I could explain his behavior. He’s always been a little erratic, but this is…”

“Beyond self-destructive?” Phil prompted.

“More like desperate,” Natasha sighed, propping her head up on her hand. “He’s acting like he’s dying – but why now? Why not right after he became Iron Man? What’s pushed him over the edge?”

“We’ll find out,” Phil assured her.

She pressed her fingers against the screen again. “You need to go to bed, loverling, if you’re going to be on that flight with Fury in the morning.”

“So do you, love. You’ve had a busy few days.” Phil pressed a kiss against Clint’s temple. “We all have.”

“Alright.” She was reluctant, but knew he was right. Her resources were stretched thin, and she needed downtime. “I’ll see you tomorrow, loverling… and dearling, I’ll check in telepathically once I’ve talked to Gaia.”

“Sleep tight. I love you both,” Clint said, smiling at Natasha.

“Both,” Phil and Natasha echoed.

~ * ~


	16. Chapter 16

When Director Fury revealed her identity to Tony Stark, Natasha thought that meant her undercover mission was over, and that she’d be returning to headquarters with him.

She was wrong.

Though Stark knew her now, Fury still wanted her at Stark Industries – this time, serving as an assistant to Pepper Potts. If Fury’s Hail-Mary play for Stark to find a cure didn’t work, she’d be perfectly positioned to assist Potts in keeping Stark Industries together – and to keep Potts herself together. Natasha didn’t think she and Tony were actually an item, but it looked to her like it was only a matter of time.

Leaving Randy’s Donuts, Fury gestured for her to get in a separate vehicle than the one he slid into. For a moment she was irritated, until she saw Phil at the wheel of the second SUV. She kept herself in check until Fury’s vehicle had pulled away, and she was sitting calmly in the passenger seat.

“Hi,” Phil said, reaching across the vehicle to take her left hand in his right. “Need a ride, gorgeous?”

She couldn’t help but laugh. “Yeah. I need to go back to Natalie’s apartment and change, then get to SI.”

“Maybe Natalie won’t mind if I tag along?” Phil said with a ghost of a smile. He caressed her wedding ring. “You’ll have to give me directions, love.”

She did, her hand still clasped in his. She didn’t want to let go, even for the brief time it took to get from the SUV into Natalie’s studio apartment, but she didn’t want to attract attention.

Phil closed the apartment door behind them, turned the deadbolt, then moved to her with restrained urgency. He pulled her against him, kissing her with a thoroughness she appreciated, even as it left her breathless. “Goddess, I’ve missed you,” he murmured in her ear between kisses.

“I’ve missed you too,” she answered, curling into his embrace. She wished they were home – wished Clint was with them – wished a lot of things, but Phil was here, now, and she wouldn’t ruin the respite with regrets. “How long do you think we can stretch this, before the Director gets pissy?”

“Not nearly long enough,” he told her, burying his face in her hair and breathing deeply.

“Are you alright, loverling?” she asked when he didn’t move. She brought her hands up from his waist, cupping one on the back of his head and the other over his cheek. “What is it?”

Phil pulled back enough to make eye contact, though his arms were still locked around her. “I don’t think I’ve ever been more terrified and helpless than watching that idiot tear up his own home with my wife in it, and me across the continent.” She could feel a tremor run through him – shiver or shudder, she wasn’t sure – before he tightened his grip on her and pressed his forehead against hers.

“I’m fine, loverling,” she reassured him. “Barely even scratched, and that’s more from running barefoot than anything Stark did.”

“Brain knows that. Heart doesn’t,” Phil said, his voice tight.

Natasha didn’t protest again – she knew how rarely Phil was overwhelmed enough to forego full sentences. She relaxed into his arms, running one hand up and down his upper arm, soothing as best she could.

“Are you trying to compare my biceps to Stark’s?” Phil asked, some humor returning to his voice. He eased back, tilting her head up for a tender kiss.

“You’d win,” she assured him easily. “You only look like a harmless bureaucrat with the suit on. I’ve seen you in action.”

“Better than Clint’s?” he teased.

She laughed. “I know better than to answer that question, loverling.”

He smiled even as he kissed her, more heat in it now than the previous ones. She met them eagerly as he gently maneuvering her until the back of her legs hit the couch, and she sank onto it. He followed, still intent both of keeping as much of her body in contact with his as possible, and with passionate, desperate kisses.

“Will Clint be…” she tried to ask, but Phil’s touches were making speech difficult. {Are you going to be upset if we… fraternize?}

{Nope,} Clint answered immediately. {Do you mind if I hang out in your head?}

It was the next best thing to having him there – she agreed immediately. “Clint’s listening,” she managed to tell Phil. He’d found the zipper to her catsuit and was inching it down, paying attention to each bit of flesh he exposed, dropping kisses on her like spring rain.

“Good,” he murmured, still intent on her zipper.

~ * ~

It was just as well, Clint reflected wryly, that he’d been sitting a desk doing paperwork when Nat asked him about fraternizing. If he’d been on the range – or, Goddess forbid, in the ring with the Scoobies – he doubted he’d have been able to keep even a semblance of composure. Telepathically, even from across the country, their passion had noticeably affected him, and he didn’t particularly feel like sharing that with the rest of SHIELD.

Well, someday.

But not today.

It was only fair, really. He and Phil hadn’t kept their hands to themselves while Natasha was away – doubtless she’d had her share of long-distance lust. He was pleasantly reminiscing when someone sat down on the other side of the desk. Startled, he looked up to see Maria Hill making herself comfortable. “Was I scaring agents away again?” Clint asked, confused as to why she’d seek him out.

“No.” Maria picked a pen out of a coffee mug and idly rolled it along her knuckles. “But I thought you might want some company, with Agents Coulson and Romanoff off on Director’s business.”

Clint felt a surge of affection for the self-restrained senior agent. It probably hadn’t been easy for her to offer, which made it that much more meaningful. “Yeah. I could.” He scanned the room automatically, to see who might be in earshot. Even if there was no one visibly listening, he was not naive enough to think that they had actual privacy. “You wanna grab lunch?”

Maria let a very small smile flicker across her face briefly. “So long as it’s not a prelude to your B3 remedy.”

He laughed and tucked the paperwork away. “Nope, just got a hankering for Mexican, and the cafeteria can’t do a decent taco.” He bowed floridly, gesturing for Maria to precede him. She rolled her eyes but did.

Clint didn’t fully relax until they were seated in a booth at his favorite kitschy Mexican restaurant. He hadn’t dared to let his guard down in Maria’s vehicle – it was entirely likely that it was monitored as well. He hadn’t realized how much stress was caused just by being under watch all the time. He ordered a beer from the young server and tilted his head back on the vinyl cushion. “I promise, the food here is better than the decor,” Clint told Maria. When the beer arrived, he ran its cold surface over his forehead.

“Headache?” Maria asked. She had to fight with herself to let her concern show – but Clint was obviously letting her see behind his walls, and deserved a chance to see behind hers.

“Yeah.” He twisted the cap off the bottle and took a sip. “Normally I’d have a cup of tea for it but...”

“But it’s not the same without being nagged into it?” she filled in, letting a half-smile creep onto her face.

“Exactly.” Clint scrubbed his hands through his hair. “I think I understand better, why Phil gets them when Nat and I are out in the field. It has nothing to do with whether they’re capable – it’s that I couldn’t get to them in time to make a damned difference if something went wrong.”

Maria stirred the ice in her water. “That’s the reason for the anti-fraternization rules, Barton,” she reminded him gently.

He groaned. “I know.” When the server returned, he ordered a huge lunch in flawless Spanish. Not to be outdone, Maria ordered hers in Spanish as well – though not nearly the amount of food he did. At another of her raised eyebrows, he shrugged. “Apparently mental muscles use calories too. Big Mama is always after me to eat more, when I’ve been using Her gifts.”

“I still can’t believe you call Her that,” Maria murmured. 

“I call her Mama, most of the time,” Clint admitted quietly, not meeting Maria’s eyes. “It’s… umm… She is the closest I’ve had to a mom in… a really long time.”

Maria looked down into her lap. “I never knew mine.” She hadn’t meant to admit that – but apparently her desire to be open was stronger than her reticence. Besides – Barton could obviously keep a secret. “She died when I was born.”

“Hell.” Clint seemed taken aback by her admission. “So it was just you and your father?”

“He remarried. She… didn’t like me.”

Clint took another drink of beer. “You know, out of all of us SHIELD agents, the only one I’ve met with a good family history is Phil. He offered to share his mom with us – I bet Diane would be willing to step in for you, too.”

“I don’t need pity, Barton,” Maria began hotly, and Clint shook his head.

“Not what I meant. Diane is… well… you know how Phil has always taken care of every agent even tangentially under his command? Like, even the noncoms and gophers? He gets it from his mom. That woman never met somebody she didn’t want to fuss over. It’s like she’s got this… innate momness.” He shook his head, smile fond. “Catriona’s got it too, in spades. My sister-in-law Laura has a touch… maybe it’ll get stronger as she gets older.”

Maria didn’t answer. She was curious about Catriona, but remarking upon the druid the last time she’d had dinner with Phil and Clint had caused a pretty strong reaction – one she had no desire to see again.

Clint mistook her prudent silence for discomfort and sighed. “Look, I didn’t mean to… suggest you needed it or something.” He scrubbed his hands through his hair again, pulling at it this time. “Damn it.”

“Cut it out, Barton,” she said, reaching across to still his hands. Her tone was gentler than her words. “I know you didn’t. I just don’t know what to say when you’re nice and thoughtful.” She let humor flicker across her face. “It’s so unexpected.”

He laughed and stopped pulling at his hair. “Alright, when you put it that way.” Their lunches arrived – Maria marveled at both the variety of food and the speediness of service – and they held off on conversation until the server had stepped away.

“Can I ask a question without triggering one of your psychic mood swings?” Maria asked around a bite of truly superior chicken enchilada.

“You want to know more about Catriona,” Clint deduced. “Yeah. I’m not as hair-trigger today, and I’m prepared for it.”

“How’d you know… nevermind. I don’t want to know.” Maria shook her head. “What’s she like?”

Clint swallowed several more bites of his own lunch before answering. “She’s… good. Like, Glinda the Good Witch, good. Or like, “You make me want to be a better man” good. I’ve never met anyone like her. She’s seen so much pain and suffering – Goddess, you should hear her screaming in a nightmare – but she still believes in people, and hope.” He looked down at his plate, idly drawing a symbol in his rice. “She’s waited twenty-three centuries for her own heartmate, and she still believes in love.”

This was edging into territory that made Maria want to squirm – though she forced herself not to. “What’s she look like?”

Clint pulled a cell phone out of a hidden pocket – not his SHIELD phone, she noted – and brought up a photo, sliding it across the table to her. On the screen she could see a mass of people – adults and children. “We took that last Christmas – Catriona’s the one in the middle with the red hair.”

Maria looked down at the picture and felt a squeeze in her ribcage. It was just a family picture, she told herself – just a happy extended family, the kind she’d never had and probably never would. Her eyes touched on each member of the family, noting all three SHIELD agents, and then settled on the druid. “She’s beautiful,” Maria remarked in some surprise. She wasn’t sure what she’d expected – maybe something more like a crone? – but this petite little thing wasn’t it. How someone so delicate could wield the power she obviously could – it was baffling.

“She is,” Clint agreed. He flicked the screen a few times until a shot popped up of Catriona, her feet bared in Clint’s lap, having her toenails painted gold. “She’d never had a pedicure before. I can’t remember which twin – Rose or Lily – suggested it, but it’s part of our Christmas traditions now.”

The vivacity of the young-appearing woman nearly jumped off the screen, and Maria wanted to reach in and grab some of it for herself. This woman was almost a hundred times her age and yet… she looked like she wasn’t as tired of the world as Maria felt, most days.

“Next time she’s in town, I’ll introduce you,” Clint promised. He’d been watching Maria closely, those his attention had appeared to be on his food.

“I’d like that,” Maria answered, very quietly. She held out a finger above the photo – not touching the phone screen, but obviously wanting to.

Interesting… Clint thought to himself. Tucking the phone back into his pocket he changed the subject, until they were sniping at each other like the long-time coworkers and friends they were.

~ * ~


	17. Chapter 17

After a delicious interlude with his wife, Phil didn’t particularly want to have to babysit Tony Stark. He wanted to bundle Natasha up in his arms and take her home to Clint – tuck them both away where they’d be safe.

Even as he thought it, he knew it wouldn’t happen. His loves were not the type to hide themselves away when there was work to be done. Still, a man could dream.

His irritation at Stark for putting Natasha at risk caused him to be slightly more formal – and less pleasant – to Stark than he would have ordinarily. There was no way for Stark to know that Natasha was his wife – chances were, Phil could wave their wedding rings in front of Stark’s eyes and the inventor would be convinced it was a lame joke. Knowing that didn’t make it any easier, unfortunately. 

Phil was relieved when Fury contacted him to send him to New Mexico. Ordinarily he’d have enjoyed watching Stark’s creative process – it was both educational and entertaining – but it seemed prudent to get away from the engineering marvel before an accusation of deliberate threat leapt out of his mouth.

He did take the time for one more rapid-fire session of bantering – although Stark’s careless treatment of a Captain America shield prototype left him shocked at the disrespect – before he climbed into a SHIELD SUV and headed for New Mexico. It didn’t bother him to drive through the night – he’d done more on less sleep.

Besides, it was the perfect time to make a phone call.

He didn’t call Natasha – she was hard at work making herself indispensable to Pepper Potts – but slid in an earpiece and dialed his husband on their secure phones. Clint’s reply was half-distracted, but focused on him as soon as he realized they were both alone.

“And how was your day, dear?” Clint asked, humor lacing his words.

“I didn’t shoot Stark, although I did threaten to taze him,” Phil admitted. Clint laughed. “I’m off to New Mexico per the director. Something about atmospheric anomalies.”

Clint paused. “New Mexico, huh? Land of Enchantment?”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?”

“It’s the state motto, Moonbeam. But in this case, I’m more concerned by a stray comment from Mama… What are the chances of Fury letting me join you there?”

“You mean, without telling him it’s at the order of a divine being he doesn’t believe in? I’d say pretty slim.”

Clint grunted. “I’ve got a feeling it’s important. Aside from not liking being separated… Gaia did say that whatever’s coming was something you and I would handle, and I think that means we’d be in the same place.”

“And you think whatever it is will happen in New Mexico?” Phil couldn’t quite keep the disbelief out of his voice.

“Humor me, Moonbeam,” Clint pleaded. There was real concern in his voice now. “I’ll talk to Gaia about it but… this feels like the Disturbance in the Force to me.”

“Stark wasn’t? Didn’t?”

“No.” Clint’s voice was distracted as he tried to put his feelings – his instincts – into words. “I don’t know how to explain it, Phil. There’s just… I’ve got a… I need to be there.”

Phil sighed. “I’ll have a word with Fury. I can’t promise anything.”

Clint was silent for a moment, and Phil was afraid he’d hung up. “Phil… if he won’t send me, I’m going anyway.”

So it had come to that, had it? “Let’s hope that’s not necessary.” Phil tried to keep the desperation out of his voice. “I can always claim I can’t work with the boneheads at the Roswell base. You know how those Area 51 agents are. ‘Your scientists were so preoccupied with whether or not they could that they didn’t stop to think about whether or not they should.’”

“Did you really just quote Jurassic Park at me?” Clint laughed. “Oh, love, your geek is showing again.”

“Your geek shows too, pretty bird, for recognizing it.” Phil laughed as well.

“Yeah, well. I recognize it from the movie – you recognize it from the book.” Clint’s voice was teasing now.

“Whatever makes you think I’m not quoting from the movie? Granted, Dr. Malcolm isn’t shirtless in that scene, but…”

Clint let out a theatrical gasp. “You admired his biceps! Moonbeam, I’m crushed!”

“Mostly his chest…” Phil teased.

“Hmph. I see how it is. I let you out of my sight, and you go looking for suitable bicep replacements.” Clint didn’t sound upset – he was secure in their love – but he did find it curious that both of his loves had such a fascination with his arms.

Phil tried to keep his amusement out of his voice. “Well, I don’t find Stark’s a suitable replacement… although Natasha is right, they are surprisingly well developed.”

“Now you’re just baiting me.” Clint grinned at Phil’s unrestrained laughter. He always took pleasure in making his husband laugh – and his wife, for that matter. They were so contained with outsiders that it was a joy to see them unfurl in private.

“I am,” Phil admitted, still chuckling. “Can’t help it. I love it when you get growly and possessive.”

“You and Nat both do that,” Clint told him. “If that’s all it takes to make you happy, I’ll let my Litha urges run full force, and you can swoon over how incredibly protective I am.”

Phil made a noise in his throat that Clint couldn’t quite identify. “I’ll keep that in mind… preferably some time when I’m not operating a vehicle.”

Oh. That was a good noise, then. “Sorry, treorai. Don’t mean to be a driving hazard.”

“I wouldn’t have called if I couldn’t handle it,” Phil told him mildly.

“Sorry.”

Phil glanced at the phone, wishing he could see Clint’s face. “You need never apologize for being concerned for my safety,” Phil said. “Or for being so deliciously desirable that I have to change the subject or risk exceeding the speed limit.” There was silence in his ear, and he grinned. “You’re trying not to apologize again, aren’t you?”

“Guilty as charged.”

He laughed. “Oh, pretty bird… life is never boring with you.”

~ * ~

Clint was very glad, the next morning, that he was already sitting down in his daily communion with Gaia when he felt a… ripple. He glanced around, but nothing in the yard seemed affected, which made him think it wasn’t a physical ripple. He reached out for Gaia and Natasha at the same instant. {Nat? Mama?}

{I felt it too, dearling,} Nat said in his mind immediately. He got the sense that though she wasn’t in contact with the ground at the moment, she was headed towards it.

\\\My Warriors, that was the impact of a being from another plane upon my surface,// Gaia told them. She didn’t sound as serene as Clint was used to – he wouldn’t call it worried, exactly, but She was not… at ease.

{Okay.} Clint accepted that information easily. {Where?}

\\\New Mexico.//

Invective – in English and many other languages – flooded his mind from Natasha, but he ignored it. {This the disturbance in the force that Phil and I have to deal with?}

\\\Yes, Boghdoir. M’inion, calm yourself – there are no indications of danger to either of your achroi ghra.//

{Yeah, no, Mama – telling Nat to calm down is not going to—}

{No danger?} Natasha shouted, and Clint winced. He honestly hadn’t known it was possible to shout telepathically, but his head was ringing from it nonetheless. {I’m stuck in Malibu, Phil’s in New Mexico where a… an… otherworldly fucking being just landed, Clint is in DC, and you’re telling me I should be calm?!}

Somehow Clint knew that Gaia spoke only to him when she said, \\\I should listen to you on the handling of M’inion Nat.// He didn’t respond – he didn’t trust himself to send an answer just to the Goddess – but he braced himself for more of Natasha’s anger.

Her anger dissolved, though – and what he felt from her instead was fear. {How can I help them, Mother?} Natasha asked, her voice very quiet now. Clint wondered if Gaia had spoken to Natasha privately as well, for such a sudden reversal. {What can I do?}

\\\Your task is with your current charge, M’inion. It is imperative that you remain where you are – that you assist the Man of Iron in his coming challenge. He must not fall.// Gaia was quite firm, and Clint bit his lip. Did that mean Stark was going to be Chosen? Because he did not think he could stomach the idea of Tony Stark, Chosen Warrior of Gaia. \\\No, Boghdoir. I have no intention of taking the Man of Iron into my service – but his survival is of paramount concern nonetheless.//

{Am I transmitting really loud, or did you anticipate me?} Clint had to ask.

\\\Both, my dear archer. Both. M’inion, do you accept your task?//

{Yes, Mother. I will stay with Stark… and try to keep him from dying.} Natasha sounded resigned and a little disgusted. {If he’s wounded or if he can’t beat the palladium poisoning—}

{Wait, what?}

{Hush, dearling, I’ll fill you in later – will Catriona be available, if it comes to that? Her help or his life?}

Gaia was silent for a long moment and Clint held his breath. \\\Yes, m’inion. I dare not send her now, because she may be needed elsewhere and plane-walking takes a great deal of energy – but if there is no alternative, I will dispatch my Druid to you.//

{I’m guessing my assignment is to figure out how to get to Phil in New Mexico?} Clint asked.

\\\You will be joining him tomorrow. I have taken steps.//

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. {Yes ma’am. Is there anything I need to know about this… other-planar being?}

There was another pregnant pause, and Clint’s apprehension doubled. \\\I cannot interfere with his presence here, or risk offending the deity to which he is sworn,// she said finally. \\\I will tell you that he is not an enemy – unless his behavior becomes malicious, I would be much obliged if you would consider him a potential ally.//

{Yes, ma’am,} Clint responded immediately. He was being eaten up with curiosity, but knew better than to push. {If I’m stuck here until tomorrow, what do you want me to do?}

\\\Stay at work on the intel regarding the gamma scientist – Banner. His presence will be of import in future days, and it would behoove you to be familiar with him and his capabilities.//

{You want me to study the Hulk, while I wait to be dispatched to greet a being from another plane?} Clint repeated, just in case he’d misunderstood.

\\\Yes.//

Okay, so he hadn’t been confused. {Alright. I’ll do my best.}

\\\That is all I can ask of you.//

{Mother?} Natasha’s query was soft. {Are we the only Warriors responding to these incidents? Stark, and New Mexico, and whatever is coming with the Hulk?}

Clint felt a strange, fluttery sensation across his face and decided it was the Goddess’s equivalent of a sigh. \\\Yes. You are the closest geographically to the potential events, and you are tightly bonded to each other and to me. Should you require druidic assistance, you are also already known to my Healer – and she is currently the only other of my Chosen that I have informed of the tasks. Should the needs of these events grow, I would be hard-pressed to choose another who would work as seamlessly with you as would be needed.//

{Not even the farm dude? The Grey Gardener? He’s close, isn’t he?} Clint asked, mind flicking back to the oh-so-convenient ride they’d gotten in Iowa, nearly a year ago.

\\\Father Padraig is not on your continent at present, and he would not be my first choice. If the problem were a result of our guest from another plane, I may dispatch my Astronomer – Sir Ronan – but he is not the most… sociable of my Druids. Were the problem with Banner, my Chemist would likely be my choice – but he has a deep distrust of the organization serve, and he would be unlikely to assist in any meaningful way.//

{So it’s just the four of us. You and me, Phil and Catriona.} Natasha rolled the problem over in her head. {Can we bring in our own help? The Scoobies?}

\\\If you require additional manpower, your trainees would be acceptable.//

Clint could hear Natasha let out a whoosh of breath, even from across the continent. {Okay. So not out in the cold… just using our resources sparingly. I can do that.}

\\\I have utmost faith in you, M’inion Nat, and in you, Boghdoir Barton. Please pass my confidence on to your treorai as well – there is no triad to whom this task is better suited.//

{Thanks, Mama,} Clint said, at the same moment that Natasha replied with {Thank you, Mother.}

\\\I will leave you to your duties now. Do not hesitate to reach out to me if you need guidance. I will be… augmenting your ability to reach me, and each other, until such time as the chaos has passed.//

{Sweet. Wifi upgrade.} Clint couldn’t help but crack a joke – he was rewarded by a chuckle from Natasha.

{I’ll take it. Do you have time for me to fill you in on Stark, dearling?}

{For you, I’ll all… brains, because my ears aren’t what’s listening. Even if it is about Stark. Hit me with the deets, Sunshine.}

~ * ~


	18. Chapter 18

It took Phil less than ten minutes after arrival in Roswell to realize he’d been charitable in his description of the agents he was expected to work with. It was no wonder that Fury had sent him here – Roswell seemed to be the dumping ground for overly enthusiastic, idealistic, and naive agents who should have had those qualities beat out of them by now.

It made him feel old.

As soon as he was escorted to an office with a door, he plucked his private phone from his jacket pocket and dialed his wife. When she answered, Phil didn’t bother with niceties. “Natasha, he offered me a UFO shaped sugar cookie with my coffee.”

Natasha was silent a moment before Phil was treated to delighted and unrestrained laughter. From the echoing and sound of running water, he deduced she was in a bathroom – not a breach of their modesty rules, but did mean she was likely alone. “Did you at least try the cookie?”

“It was from frozen dough. Frozen, prepackaged dough.” 

The laughter exploded until Phil couldn’t resist a smile of his own. “God, I needed that,” Natasha admitted as her chuckles died down. “It was the frozen dough that was the last straw, wasn’t it?”

“Entirely.”

Natasha chuckled again, then pulled herself back together with a contented sigh. “I’m sorry, loverling. I wish there was something I could do. What do you need?”

“At least one agent older than my shoes – preferably Clint.” Phil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have no idea how I’m supposed to convince Fury to send him here.”

“You aren’t,” Natasha told him. “She said this morning that She has it under control – no action from any of us is required.”

Any other being, Phil would have scoffed. It was a measure of the last year that instead, he just accepted it as fact – Gaia would see to it that Clint got here before he was needed. “Agent Coulson wants to be skeptical, but Phil is just relieved. And tired.”

“You should have eaten the cookie… it sounds like you could use the sugar.” Natasha’s tone had changed, slipping into the private, nurturing one he adored. “I had this very annoying – and usually right – handler tell me that ‘Sleep is food and food is sleep.’ You need more of one or the other, and knowing you… it’ll have to be food.”

Phil laughed. He couldn’t count the number of times he’d said that to her or Clint on missions. “So you do listen to me,” he murmured.

“Always, loverling.” There was a noise on her end, and she sighed. “I’m sorry, but I’ve got to get back to work. Miss Potts needs me.”

“Miss Potts and I have something in common, then,” Phil said lightly. “Please be careful. I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she murmured. It wasn’t as difficult as she’d expected, and suddenly she didn’t care who overheard her – on either end of the phone call. “I’ll be careful if you promise to go eat something, treorai.”

“Deal. Take care of my favorite assassin.”

“I would, but he’s in DC,” Natasha replied.

“He’s my favorite sniper – you’re my favorite assassin,” Phil corrected gently. “Don’t ever think I feel any less for you, my love.”

He could almost hear her squirm – she never wanted to admit her own insecurities, or acknowledge them when either of her husbands brought them up – but she was not so unfeeling as to leave a statement like that unanswered. “I know.” That seemed like a weak response – if it was Clint she’d have been able to back it up with a wash of emotions, but words were not her forte, not when it came to her feelings. She let out a long breath. “I love you both.”

“I love you both,” Phil answered, and they ended the call. He stared at the dormant phone for more minutes than he wanted to admit before he could force himself to turn on his computer, reach for a stack of reports, and attempt to make sense of what was going on in the Land of Enchantment.

~ * ~

Natasha tucked the phone away and leaned her forehead against the cool tile of the bathroom wall. She missed them both, viciously. The stolen moments with Phil had made the ache seem worse instead of better.

“Natalie?”

It was Potts’ voice on the other side of the door, and Natasha straightened up, checking her makeup and hair in the mirror one last time before exiting the bathroom. “I’m sorry, Miss Potts, I… had a phone call.”

Her boss – Natalie’s boss – appraised her. “Home?” Natasha nodded, not trusting herself to speak. “Husband?”

Natasha wondered if Potts could see her ring, and then decided she didn’t give a damn. “Yes ma’am. He’s… worried about me working here, after the party debacle. Well, he was worried after Monaco too, but… I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have taken a personal call. It won’t happen again, Miss Potts.”

Potts’ face softened. Natasha had never seen her look… tender. “I think you can call me Pepper when it’s just us, and Happy. I only insist on Miss Potts with Tony, because if I don’t…”

“He’ll call you everything but that?” Natasha asked with a small smile. “Thank you, Miss Potts – Pepper.” She twisted her wedding ring on her finger. “You can call me Nat.” The moment felt too intimate for her cover name. She’d been Nat all her life – her mother had named her Natalia – even though the ending syllables had changed from cover to cover. Nat stayed. It was her one constant.

Had been, at least, she corrected, twisting her ring again.

“You miss him, don’t you?” Pepper asked gently.

Natasha nodded. “He travels a lot for work, I didn’t really think it would – well, I didn’t think it would matter if I traveled too. I guess I was wrong.”

“If you’re going to quit, can you help me find a new PA first?” Pepper asked, with just enough dry humor to make Natasha laugh.

“I’m not quitting. You need help, and right now I’m the right person to do it. When – or if – that changes… I will do what I can not to leave you in a lurch.” It was the most honest Natasha could be about the situation, the most honest she’d ever been undercover. It felt strange – and right.

“Thank you.” Pepper reached out and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder gently. “Do you want to tell me about your husband, while we sort out the next media crisis?”

Natasha laughed. “Most people would find him boring,” she demurred. She wasn’t sure how to describe one husband without it bleeding over into the other – and Clint and Phil were night and day.

“After all I’ve gone through with Tony, boring sounds appealing.”

“Sounds like you’re the one who needs to talk,” Natasha ventured carefully. “I know it’s not my place, but…”

Pepper sighed. “You’re not wrong… on either count… but I could use a sympathetic ear. I don’t have any girlfriends to run to… working for Stark has pretty much limited my social life.” Natasha was silent, hoping Pepper would fill it. “I never know how he feels,” Pepper said finally. “I don’t know if he’s falling in love with me or if I’m just a… decorative plaything.”

Natasha felt a pinch in the vicinity of her heart. “I make my husbands feel like that, I’m afraid.” She didn’t notice that she’d slipped the plural in – though Pepper did. “I am not good at talking about my feelings, or even admitting to myself that I have them. “As sad as that is, I think that makes me Stark in this example.”

“Why?”

Eyebrows raised, Natasha turned to fully face Pepper. “Why can’t I talk about it?” She shrugged with carefully manufactured nonchalance. “I’ve got… issues.” She couldn’t bring herself to make eye contact. “You’re not the only one without girlfriends. I… don’t make friends easily.”

Pepper reached into a cabinet and pulled down a glass decanter and two faceted glasses. She poured two fingers in each and offered one to Natasha. “To new friends,” she toasted.

“Slainte,” Natasha murmured, and downed the drink in unison with Pepper.

~ * ~


	19. Chapter 19

Clint had drafted Angie and Lance to help him with the Banner intel. He wanted Lance’s intuition and Angie’s dogged persistence – they weren’t a match for Phil, but they were the best he could do at the moment. The three of them sat at one of the brainstorming tables, stacks of reports being passed between them and photos splayed across the surface. Clint hadn’t found anything that might lead them to the Hulk, but he was too stubborn to give up that easily. 

He was halfway through a thoroughly uninteresting report on Banner’s humanitarian work in Central America when a realization struck him with enough force to halt his reading – nearly his breathing.

Gaia had called the Hulk by name.

Not just by name – She knew his surname and a description of him – the gamma scientist. She rarely referred to anyone by name – even Phil, whom She had favored not just with hearing Her speak, but with speaking to Natasha across continents. 

He wondered what else She knew about the Hulk. He was abruptly very certain She knew more – and that studying that intel had just leapt from ‘following Gaia’s command’ to ‘this is critical, need-to-know information.’

All of this was happening so fast – Stark’s dramatic downward spiral, the other planar being, something with the Hulk – it was a shift in the space-time continuum. Clint felt a hysterical laugh bubble up as the science fiction metaphors that his husband loved so much just kept popping up – it was a Disturbance in the Force, it was a paradigm shift, it was a fixed point in time – 

“What the hell, Barton?” Lance asked warily. When Clint didn’t respond beyond continuing his maniacal laughter, Lance poked him in the shoulder. “Barton!”

Clint blinked. Lance actually sounded worried. Angie was looking at him curiously as well. “Paradigm shift,” Clint told Lance sagely. “Temporal rift.”

“Fuck.” Lance peered into the archer’s eyes. “He was fine when we started. What the hell?”

Angie leaned forward to touch her fingers to Clint’s face. “This a Gaia thing?” she asked softly. Clint nodded. “Okay. What can we do?”

Clint didn’t know how to answer her. He was still mentally reeling at the implications of the events happening around him – and the emotional slip-and-slide he’d been riding had apparently decided to crank it up to eleven, today, because he felt about as stable as a rope bridge.

And not one of those good ones, either. The Indiana Jones kind.

He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. They were in a briefing room in the intel wing. He was sitting with people he trusted. Nothing in his immediate vicinity was a threat.

“Maybe you should check in with Gaia,” Angie prompted. There was no hint of order, and no hint of plea – both of which would have caused an emotional reaction. Somehow, she’d found the tone of voice that evoked obedience without triggering any other response.

“I’m fine,” Clint protested, even as he obeyed. {I’m fine, right Mama?} he asked the Goddess, hearing worry in his own tone now too.

\\\I begin to understand why your triad has rules about that word, Boghdoir.// He thought she sounded fondly amused. \\\You are approaching a state of psychic shock, I fear. You have used your gifts much in the recent past, and have not been adequately restoring your body. You require rest, and food. Companionship with those you care for you would also aid in your recovery.// She paused. \\\I did not realize that your reactions to the Solstice were quite so extreme this early, my dear archer. Were it such, I would have sent Catriona to you, or found a way to prevent you being isolated from both your achroi ghra. As it is, I must ask that you restore yourself today – I have much need of your services in coming days.//

“I can’t just tell the damned Director that You ordered me to take a freaking mental health day, Mama!” Clint protested, and it wasn’t until he saw the stupefied expressions on the Scoobies that he realized he’d said it aloud. He buried his head in his hands, heedless of Lance and Angie’s horrified – and worried – expressions. “Okay. Okay.” He said it to the Goddess as much as to the Scoobies. “I give in. Apparently I need food, rest, and company. How I’m supposed to rest with everything –”

“Hush,” Angie ordered. She turned to Lance. “What task can several of us do in Clint’s company, while still letting his mind rest?”

“Mind, body, or both?” Lance asked in return.

“Mind, especially – body if we can.”

“The range,” Lance answered immediately. “Sniper drills. It might as well be meditation for him, and no one’s going to argue with some intensive training. All he’s got to do is pull the trigger every now and again, and we’ll take care of the rest.”

Angie nodded approvingly and shifted her gaze back to Clint. “Can you do that?”

“Yeah.” Actually, it sounded really good – he sagged in the chair, just now realizing how deep his exhaustion ran. He hadn’t slept well the night before – even after ending the call with Phil, he was too keyed up to sleep in their empty bed.

“Food first,” Angie said firmly. “When did you eat last?”

“Um…” Clint ran the days backwards in his mind.

“Let me guess. When Phil made you eat, before he left.” 

“I had lunch with Maria,” Clint remembered. “Uhh… yesterday?”

Angie rolled her eyes and leaned forward to flick Clint on the forehead. “It’s a good thing I know it’s Litha making you this dumb, because let me tell you – it is an impressive level of stupid you’re working on here.”

Lance produced an energy bar from one of his cargo pockets and handed it to Clint. “Start with this.”

Clint took the bar, fighting back very embarrassing and unmanly tears. He was tired, and hungry, and emotionally compromised, and still his trainees – his team – had his back. He gnawed a corner off the bar – they were nutritious and therefore disgusting – before he managed to speak again. “Thanks.”

Angie smiled – a sweet, young smile he was more used to seeing in his nieces and nephews than at SHIELD. “Hey. You do what you gotta do for family.”

~ * ~

When the phone on Director Fury’s desk rang, he almost didn’t answer it.

He didn’t know what made him so sure he wasn’t going to like what he was going to hear, but when he heard the voice on the other end, he knew he’d been right.

“Nicholas, I am calling in a favor.”

The rich, cultured British voice was as familiar to him as his own family – former Director Margaret “Peggy” Carter, who had not only served with Captain America but, if rumor was true, had him eating at her feet. The woman whose leadership had turned a small group of idealistic individuals into the powerful organization he helmed now. And she wanted to call in a favor.

“I am at your disposal, Madame Director,” he said with perfect politeness.

“None of that Madame nonsense, Nicholas, or I’ll start using terms you’re not fond of in retaliation.” Fury sighed. If she wouldn’t humor him on the title, it was worse than he thought. “I require that you dispatch Agent Clint Barton – Hawkeye – and any of his young trainees that he requests to join Agent Phil Coulson in New Mexico.”

Fury blinked. He had a lot of irons in the fire – this didn’t seem like the kind of thing that would cause Director Carter to call in a favor. “May I ask why?”

“You may ask.”

He waited for her to answer and bit off a sigh. So literal. “Why do you want Barton in New Mexico?”

“My reasons are myriad, and not of your concern. It is, however, vital that Agent Barton – and any of his chosen companions – be in New Mexico as soon as possible.”

Right. She’d said he may ask, not that she would answer. Fury rubbed his hand over his bald pate. “I have him working on something right now.”

“Turn your intelligence on that poor Dr. Banner over to another intel analyst.”

Fury didn’t bother asking how she knew what Barton was working on. He’d given up trying to figure out how Carter got her information about three hours after meeting her – the air of omniscience that she cultivated was extremely effective, and he could never nail down when she was bluffing and when she had solid leads. “The Hulk is not a poor anything—”

“His name is Dr. Bruce Banner, and you would do well to remember that he is a human being,” Carter interrupted, her voice icy.

“Yes ma’am,” Fury replied immediately.

She sniffed, not believing his acquiescence regarding Banner, but willing to drop it in favor of her original mission. “So, can I count on Barton heading to New Mexico?”

“Yes ma’am,” Fury said again. “I’ll make arrangements shortly.”

“See that you do.” He could swear he felt her glare through the phone and tugged at the collar of his shirt. “If I discover that you have delayed his departure…” Carter trailed off delicately.

“Yes, ma’am,” Fury repeated. This time it was firm and obedient, respectful even.

“You’re a good boy, Nicholas,” Carter complimented him – in exactly the same tone she’d used on him when he was a young recruit – and hung up the phone.

Fury wanted to be angry – wanted to throw something fragile and watch it shatter into pieces. He didn’t know why, but it had been important to him to keep Barton, Romanoff, and Coulson separated. There was some niggling voice in his head that insisted they be apart – that he do all in his power to keep them in the field without each other.

He didn’t like that voice. He liked the thought of disobeying Director Carter even less.

Reluctantly, he picked up his desk phone again and dialed Coulson’s cell number. Maybe he could maneuver Coulson into asking for the younger agent – then he needn’t feel as though he had been cornered into this.

“Director Fury, to what do I owe the pleasure?” Phil answered, sounding as unruffled as if he were in his office downstairs and not at one of the most secure scientific research facilities in North America.

“You got a sitrep for me, Coulson?”

Phil sighed and didn’t bother to try and hide it from the Director. “If you sent me out here to punish me, it’s very effective. None of these agents would have made it through my screening, boss. I feel like the substitute teacher of a kindergarten class – comprised of brilliant, clueless toddlers.”

Fury chuckled. He couldn’t help himself – it was a fair description of the staff at the facility. “Be honest, is it better or worse than Stark wrangling?”

“At least Stark has better food.” Phil pinched the bridge of his nose. “Nick, they offered me cookies when I got here. UFO shaped cookies from prepackaged dough. One of them proudly told me he’d made them himself and hadn’t even burned himself – much.” Fury snorted. “If I’m going to figure this out, I need help. I need someone who can anticipate my orders, since none of these… agents… have a clue what they’re doing in the field.”

“You can have Barton, if you can wait until tomorrow – I need him on the Banner intel.” Fury was smug – he hadn’t even had to do much verbal dancing to get Coulson to request help. He didn’t actually intend to delay Barton – he just didn’t want to give in too easily.

Phil rubbed his forehead. He wanted to ask why Clint couldn’t work on it on the flight here – but that came too close to admitting that he wanted Clint here more for himself than his skills. “I’d rather wait. This feels too important to rush.”

“Feels?”

Phil stifled a groan. He could hear Fury’s raised eyebrow from several time zones away. “Even you get gut feelings, boss. I’ve got one, and it isn’t good.”

Fury digested that, rocking back in his chair. He trusted Phil’s gut – more than he did his own. “You want me to throw a couple of your rookies into the plane with Barton?”

“I could use Bellamy and Mackey,” Phil agreed after a moment’s thought. “Edwards, if you can spare her.” It was odd to use their surnames – they’d become Chuck and Lance and Angie to him, and the formality was… strange.

“I’ll see to it.”

“Thanks, boss. I’ll see what I can do with the baby agents in the meantime.”

~ * ~


	20. Chapter 20

Clint let his mind drift as he lay in the prone position on the range, his favorite sniper rifle tucked into his shoulder. To his left, CJ was walking Angie, Lance, and Chuck through a basic breathing exercise. On his right, Misty and Sam were running trigger pull drills. The familiarity was soothing. Before they’d settled into the range, Doc had handed Clint a tray from the cafeteria, loaded with items restorative to both mind and body. He’d inhaled most of it, stashed more in his pockets, and tried not to look pathetically grateful when Doc clapped him on the back instead of lecturing.

He didn’t think he could handle a lecture right now. He felt… shaky. If this was how Natasha had felt at Christmas, it was a wonder she’d kept it together as much as she had. Then again, it was Natasha – Goddess-like composure was one of her superpowers. He had no such illusions about himself. If it weren’t for his spouses and his team, he’d be a basket case.

Clint diverted that thought firmly. He did not want to think of life without Phil, Natasha, or the Scoobies. That was not going to bring him emotional stability. Even the barest brush of the concept made his breath hitch.

Without breaking from her exercise, Misty reached for him, squeezing his arm where her hand landed, silently reassuring.

Clint lowered his head, pressing his forehead into the crook of his elbow. Tears pricked at his eyes – this time in gratitude. He didn’t lift his head again until his breathing had returned to normal… and Misty didn’t remove her hand until he had refocused on his target.

{So, dearling,} he heard in his mind. {Would you like to tell me why I got word of your distress not from you, or from Gaia… but from the grasshopper?}

{Damn it. I told her not to tell you,} Clint replied, though without much heat. {There’s nothing you can do, Sunshine. I didn’t want to pull you away from your mission.}

{You are my mission,} Natasha replied. It could have sounded flippant, or callous – but he could hear her concern beneath the words.

He stifled his sigh – it would only worry the Scoobies. {I’m sorry, Sunshine. It just didn’t seem fair to lay it all on you when you’re so far away, and busy.}

Her tone softened. {I know that, Clint. But I don’t want you to think I ever place a mission – SHIELD or Goddess – over you or Phil. If ditching Stark and flying home to you would fix it, I’d already be on a plane.} He felt the shimmer of her laugh. {Actually, I am on a plane – Pepper, Happy and I are on our way to the Expo to for Justin Hammer’s presentation.} Her disgust was almost palpable. {I’d save Stark just to piss off Hammer.}

{How are you supposed to save Stark if you’re with Potts?} He couldn’t – quite – keep the hysteria from creeping back. {The Expo is in New York, and Stark is in Malibu.}

{Clint.} Her tone firmed. {Trust me. Trust Gaia.}

{Always.} He took another deep breath. {Sorry, Sunshine.}

He felt a ringing in his ears and would have written it off as just another delightful Litha symptom, but Natasha heard it too. {Mother? What is that?}

The Goddess answered them both – with a clarity they generally only heard from her when they were outside meditating. \\\That was the Man of Iron successfully synthesizing a new element – which will serve to replace the palladium he has been using.// Her tone was jubilant, and Clint found himself grinning in response. Misty raised an eyebrow and he shook his head, signing briefly that he’d explain later. \\\M’inion, your task is not yet complete – but it has changed. The Man of Iron’s success means that the threat has evolved – the confrontation will now occur in New York.//

{At the Expo,} Natasha supplied. {At the demonstration. Hammer?}

\\\I am unsure as to the identity of your foe. I suggest not focusing on a single individual at this time. Be wary, M’inion – whatever threatens the Man of Iron is likely to threaten his lady as well.//

{Yes, Mother.} There was no reluctance in Natasha’s agreement – no hesitancy. It warmed Clint’s heart to see the woman he loved shoulder such a burden with grace.

\\\Now, Boghdoir, return to your rest,// Gaia ordered, though with a gentleness he appreciated. \\\Your own task will require you to be at full strength. Please listen to your apprentices – trainees.//

{Yes, Mama,} Clint agreed, before breaking contact and rolling his head on his neck, turning it slightly towards Misty. “Sorry. Talking to the mothership. I’ve been ordered to listen to you.”

“Good.” Misty sat up and pulled a snack out of one of her own pockets. “Eat this, and update me.”

Clint grunted, took the packet, and obeyed.

~ * ~

Phil stood stock still, his face expressionless as he watched events unfold “Live from the Stark Expo!” on the large flat-screen TV in the largest briefing room Area 51 had to offer. There were weaponized drones attacking civilian targets – Iron Man and War Machine were both in action – and his wife was in that building.

He didn’t dare speak, because he couldn’t guarantee that it would be Agent Coulson speaking and not Phil, the terrified husband. His eyes flickered to the different feeds, searching desperately for a flicker of red curls, but he hadn’t seen Natasha on any of the footage yet. He hadn’t seen Potts yet either, which at least let him cling to the notion that Natasha was keeping Potts safe.

The private cell phone in his jacket rang, and he answered it automatically. “Yes?”

“Are you watching?” Clint asked. He sounded calmer than Phil felt.

“Yes.”

“And you’re not alone, I take it?”

“That’s correct.”

Clint sighed. “Alright. You don’t have to say much in response. I’m tied in to Gaia, who is tied in to Nat. Nat’s on her way to Hammer Industries to take down Vanko – Whiplash – who is apparently the mastermind of this clusterfuck. Trust Hammer to pull of this kind of bullshit.”

“You sound… calm.” Phil wanted to say more, but eyes were already flickering to him. The baby agents may not meet his standards, but they were not entirely unobservant.

“I am. I had several hours of forced rest in the shooting range, interspersed with the Scoobies feeding me.” Clint let a little amusement color his tone, hoping to reassure his husband. “Mama’s orders. Now I’m locked in your office watching the showdown, and figured you could use some more reliable information.”

“You aren’t wrong.” Phil’s voice was still strained, but it sounded more like Agent Coulson in a crisis now than Phil in a panic. “Give me a sitrep, Barton.”

As soon as he said the name, the agents around him snapped to attention before returning industriously to their tasks. It was nice to know his husband inspired that reaction here as well as at Headquarters – that could be handy.

“Really, Moonbeam? Oh, right. Baby agents. Putting the fear of Hawkeye in them. I like it.” Clint purred those last words. “Sexy alpha Phil.” When Phil didn’t answer, Clint chuckled. “It’s really, really tempting to keep talking dirty to you when I know you can’t say anything.”

“I wouldn’t advise that, Hawkeye, given I’m the one who submits your requisitions – unless you’d like to be known for neon pink arrow shafts.” Phil managed to say that with a straight face – and the last of the hovering agents made themselves scarce.

“Harsh, Phil. Very harsh. Alright, Mama says that Nat just took out a squad’s worth of perps while Happy managed to knock one out… maybe we should send him a sympathy card.”

“I doubt that would be appropriate.”

“Goddess, I love it when you have to be all official with me in your ear.” This time he wasn’t teasing, and it was genuine lust in his tone.

“Barton…” Phil couldn’t continue. He decided he hated having to call his husband by his surname on their private phones.

“I’m sorry, Moonbeam.” Clint’s apology was genuine. “I was trying to lighten the mood.”

“I know. It’s appreciated.”

Clint wished, not for the first time, that he could reach Phil telepathically. There was a lot he wanted to say that wasn’t easy to convey over the phone. “Shit. Nat says Vanko’s flown the coop. But hey! She got Rhodey out of the bastard’s clutches, so that’s something.”

“War Machine is now a friendly?”

“Yep. And oh, Nat got to watch Potts and Stark have a fight over video chat. I think we just won a crapload of good husband points by being nothing like Stark.”

Phil didn’t dare let the smile appear on his face, though he wanted to. “I make it a point to be nothing like Stark regularly, Barton.”

“Oh, and Nat didn’t want to tell me, but Gaia did – Hammer called her and Potts bitches. Potts called NYPD, so the bastard won’t get away with it – but I thought you’d want to know.”

A low growl from Phil startled Clint into silence. “Justin Hammer called Agent Romanoff a bitch, and he lives?”

“Dude, you do know that telling anyone in Area 51 gossip means the whole agency will hear it, right?”

“Yes, I do.”

Clint let out a low whistle. “That’s diabolical, loverling. The man’ll be lucky to make it to holding with his balls intact.”

“And your point is?”

“I’m impressed as hell, and disturbingly turned on by that,” Clint blurted.

This time Phil did let out a dry chuckle. If anything, that unnerved the agents who were carefully not watching him even more than his professionalism. “Looks like Miss Potts has evacuation under control. I wonder if she’d teach a management course at the SHIELD academy.”

“Somehow, I don’t think so. She’s not our biggest fan. Holy crap!”

“Sitrep!”

“Sorry, Phil. Whiplash just joined the party against Iron Man and War Machine… damn. That was an impressive explosion. Everyone’s OK, love. I promise.”

“Alright, then—”

“Fuck, I hate being wrong. The drones are rigged to blow. Potts is in range of the – okay, nevermind.”

Together onscreen they watched Iron Man sweep Potts off her feet and out of the blast radius. When the last explosion died away, Phil swallowed. “Status on Agent Romanoff?”

“Safe as houses helping LEOs clear out Hammer Industries HQ. Gaia confirms the Stark event – and really, Phil, that’s what she called it – is over.”

Phil closed his eyes and took a deep breath. He could hear the sudden stillness of the agents in the office, and it was their presence that kept him from falling apart. “Glad to hear she’s clear.” The palpable relief in the room buoyed him – it maybe be respect bordering on worship, but he wasn’t the only person in this building with feelings towards Natasha. “Has the Director spoken to you about your new mission?”

“Yep. Chuckles, Lancelot, Angie and I are boarding a plane in…” Clint checked the clock. “Like four hours. Should be touching down in Roswell by daybreak. I should grab some actual sleep – although I won’t lie, I’m totally crashing on the couch in your office. Being in our bed at home all by myself was a really lousy idea last night.”

“I’ll be at the landing pad to retrieve you in the morning.” Phil swallowed, wishing he could say what he really wanted to and damn the listeners. Something in his voice must have given him away – at least to his husband.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Clint’s voice was softer now, dropping down into the low rumble he normally used when the three of them were curled up together. “Everyone’s safe, we haven’t committed any felonies or insubordination, and I’ll be seeing you in under twelve hours. Natasha sends her love, too. We both love you – and I love you both.”

“Both,” Phil agreed.

~ * ~


	21. Chapter 21

By the time Natasha walked out of Hammer Industries and climbed into the driver’s seat of a SHIELD vehicle, she was desperate for a shower, food, a bottle of vodka, and eight interrupted hours of sleep – preferably sandwiched between her husbands. She didn’t really think any of those options were likely to happen, though. {Mother? Is either Clint or Phil still awake?}

There was a pause, during which time Natasha wondered if she’d irritated the Goddess with such an inane question. \\\Boghdoir is asleep, but your treorai is awake. No, m’inion, you have not irritated me.//

{You will tell me if I do, right?}

\\\Yes, m’inion.// She thought the Goddess sounded amused. \\\I am amused, child. It is always the most competent warriors, the strongest individuals who are concerned about becoming a burden upon me. It is a curious facet of humanity.//

Natasha chose not to comment on that – she didn’t want to argue with the Goddess about her competency. Instead, she slid her private phone out and dialed Phil.

“Hello there, love,” he answered, and she immediately felt better. “Headed back to base?”

“I wish,” she murmured. “No, I’m on my way to Stark Industries. Or I will be, when I work up the energy to start the damned car.”

“No rest for the wicked?”

“Apparently not.” Natasha closed her eyes and leaned back in the seat. “I’m sorry I couldn’t call sooner.”

Phil sighed, but she could hear affection behind his exasperation. “Oh, certainly, I’m going to be upset with you that you didn’t call me immediately, mid-clean-up, since you knew full well I’d been informed you were safe.”

She snorted. “Maybe I’m sorry for myself that I couldn’t call earlier. I miss you.” She murmured that last, and his tone gentled.

“I know, love. I miss you too – both of you. At least I’ll see Clint soon… have you any idea when you’ll be cut loose?”

“No.” She rubbed her forehead. “Apparently Fury believes the hype, that I’m superhuman and have no mortal needs like sleep, food, or sex.”

His focus sharpened, and for a moment he was Agent Coulson instead of Phil. “If the Director is mistreating my field agents, I’ll have a word with him.”

Natasha laughed. “Clint’s right, that is disturbingly sexy.” Phil grumbled but she just laughed again. “He’s not mistreating me, loverling – or at least, he doesn’t realize he’s doing it. I never complain.”

“No, that’s my job… and he seems damned set on preventing me from taking care of you.” Phil’s growl was possessive and protective, and comforted Natasha more than she was willing to admit.

“It’s not important enough to make a fuss over,” she protested. “I’ll help Pepper—”

“When did she become Pepper?”

“We had a… moment.” Natasha swallowed sudden nervousness. “I may have told her I was married. I didn’t name names… but I told her to call me Nat.”

“You broke cover?” He sounded startled, but not upset.

She fidgeted. “Not exactly. It’s just… she was… easy to talk to. I just… felt like telling her. Being as honest as I could be, I guess.”

Phil’s smile was audible, and she relaxed. “You made a friend, sweetheart. That’s lovely.” It would have sounded condescending from someone else – Natasha knew he was genuinely pleased, though. “You don’t need my permission to talk about us – though I’d prefer Stark didn’t know.”

“Agreed.” She laughed lightly. “She said she didn’t have any girlfriends to talk to about Tony, so… well, I expect she can keep our secret in exchange for me not running to the tabloids about them.”

“Is it finally a ‘them’ then?” Phil asked curiously. “They’ve been dancing around that as long as… well, as long as we did, I suppose.”

“It didn’t take an act of Goddess to get them together,” Natasha teased.

“Didn’t it?”

Alright, he had a point, she admitted to herself. “How’s New Mexico?”

“I’m in a motel room with a vibrating bed – and a spacescape painted on the ceiling. Complete with little green men.” She grinned. “They offered me a bunk at Area 51. An actual bunk. The most advanced research facility in North America, Nat, and they sleep in barracks.”

She chuckled. “I guess we don’t have to worry about them fraternizing.”

“Oh, no, they do that – just not in their beds.” She could hear his amusement. “There’s a closet for that – and one lab that’s mysteriously out of order regularly.”

“Goddess save me from geniuses,” Natasha murmured. Phil agreed fervently. “If you get a chance to use that closet… or the bed, for that matter… with Clint, promise me you’ll take it.”

“Of course.” He sounded puzzled. “Why wouldn’t I?”

“It’s not that you wouldn’t, it’s just… he needs us right now, loverling.” Natasha shook her head, looking out through the windshield at nothing. “Did he tell you about his little meltdown today?”

“He told me the Scoobies had been feeding him… what happened?”

Natasha told him, in as much detail as she could, about Clint’s brush with psychic shock and the treatment that Gaia had insisted upon. “She apologized to him, for leaving him all alone. Then She apologized to me for it. I just… I can’t touch him from here, loverling, and he needs it. Promise me you’ll take care of him?”

“Always, my love,” he soothed. He wondered if Natasha was feeling some Litha symptoms of her own, but knew it was not wise to ask – he’d mention it to Clint, maybe. “With Chuck, Lance, and Angie here too, I should be able to sneak away with him, at least long enough for a cuddle.”

“If I can, I’ll join in telepathically.” She glanced at the clock and swore. “I need to go, treorai, or I’ll never get to SI.”

Phil sighed. “Alright. I love you.”

“I love you too.”

~ * ~

Natasha managed to pull her professional persona back together on the drive from Hammer Industries to SI. She was entirely Agent Romanoff when she signed in at the front desk and was directed to an elevator, and she remained Agent Romanoff right up until the moment Pepper looked up from her desk and smiled at her as she got off the elevator.

“Nat, come in. I didn’t expect you.”

The professional veneer cracked. After a quick look around the room to ensure they were alone, Natasha let herself answer. “You’re not mad. Why aren’t you mad?”

Pepper raised an eyebrow – elegant and sophisticated, even in jeans and a band t-shirt. “Should I be?” When Natasha gestured wordlessly to her catsuit and SHIELD emblem, Pepper smiled. “If I were going to be angry about this whole situation, it would be at the people who put us in it – not at you. You were doing your job,” Pepper continued. “You obviously didn’t want to lie to me – and once I knew about your marriage, I could see you weren’t flirting with Tony with any real intention. You are – were – a good PA, even when it was apparent you wanted to be with your husbands.” Pepper smiled at Natasha’s startled expression. “I’m neither unobservant nor a prude, Nat. I’ve heard of polyamory before.”

“That’s very… mature.” Natasha moved closer and eased herself into a chair in front of Pepper’s desk.

“One tends to become mature, when one’s professional life is built upon catering to the needs of others.” Pepper twisted in her chair, opened a small refrigerator and passed Natasha a cold can of soda. “You look like you could use the sugar, and the caffeine.”

“I was just telling my husband—” Natasha paused. “I was just telling Phil that I needed sleep and food.”

“Phil? Coulson?” Pepper gave her an appraising look, one corner of her mouth twitching. “Damn. How’d he land you?”

“I have a competency kink,” Natasha deadpanned, and smiled when Pepper burst out laughing. “It’s actually more how did we not wind up together sooner? Phil and Clint and I have worked together for… a long time, and at some point it became something else.” She looked down at her ring. “I probably shouldn’t have told you, because I have to ask you to keep it a secret. It’s – we’d all lose our jobs.”

“Clint is your third?” Pepper asked. Natasha nodded. “I don’t think I’ve met him.”

“Clint Barton. Hawkeye.”

“Name is familiar, but… well, that doesn’t matter. I’m not going to tell anyone, Nat – it is Natasha, right?” At Natasha’s nod, Pepper continued. “I don’t know why you told me, but I’m… flattered, I guess is the best word. People don’t usually trust me that easily.” Something flickered in her eyes. “They usually assume I’m just Tony’s puppet.”

Natasha lifted her soda can. “To being underestimated.” Pepper clinked her own can against Natasha’s. “I don’t really know why I told you either. We don’t tell many.” She thought about that. “I suppose that’s not true – both their families know, and our team of recruits… a few others.”

“But not the Director?”

“If Fury knew, he’d have to act.” Natasha sighed. “Right now, we don’t want to leave SHIELD but… someday.”

Pepper gazed at her, and Natasha felt herself being measured somehow. “I know all about somedays.” She sat back, and her tone changed to one less serious. “You look a little shell-shocked.”

Natasha was, more than she wanted to admit. She could handle anything professionally – personally, not so much. “I am. I don’t… have a lot of experience with this kind of conversation.”

“One between friends?” Pepper asked gently.

“Yeah.” Natasha sat up, making eye contact. “I don’t have many.” She paused. “Well. I have more now than I’ve ever had.” She thought of Catriona and the Scoobies – at what point had she stopped thinking of them as friends and starting thinking of them as family? “I don’t know if I’m really that tired, or if you’re damnably easy to talk to.”

Pepper reached forward – slowly, telegraphing her movements like she would towards a frightened child – and touched the back of Natasha’s hand, above her wedding ring. “Probably a little of both.”

“You know, the only other person I know who would handle this situation with so much aplomb has red hair, too. Do you think it’s genetic?”

They were both laughing when Tony Stark entered the office, and he made a show of checking that he’d come in the right door. “Are you… laughing, Agent Natashalie? I didn’t know you knew how to laugh.”

“Don’t call me that,” she answered in a low voice. She meant it to come out as a threat – she figured she’d been half successful. Tony looked appropriately frightened – Pepper looked thoughtful.

“What are you even still doing here? Did Fury order you to babysit me?”

Natasha fixed Tony with a blank stare. “No.” It was a partial truth – Fury had ordered her to help Pepper clean up, but hadn’t specified if she was to keep watch over Stark. “I promised Miss Potts that I wouldn’t leave her in the lurch.”

“Pepper, please,” Pepper corrected gently. “I’m not going to hold you to that. I know you’ve got other responsibilities, Nat.”

“Hey, why do you get to call her—”

“While you were off playing with Rhodey, Pepper and I bonded,” Natasha interrupted. “Female power. Insufferable bosses. The impracticability of fighting in high heels. Girl stuff.”

Tony looked down at her, took in her amused expression and Pepper’s fond one, and decided that he was too smart to fall into that verbal trap. He stepped closer and tucked a strand of Pepper’s hair behind her ear. It was an easy, affectionate caress – and it made Natasha miss her husbands even more. “Is there room at the table for me, or is three a crowd?” Tony asked. His expression was serious – evidently he’d decided that work took priority over teasing Natasha – at least for now.

“Three is never a crowd,” Pepper said, and shot Natasha a private wink.

~ * ~


	22. Chapter 22

Clint slept solidly on the couch in his husband’s office until Chuck came to fetch him, four and a half hours later. He didn’t even have to pack a bag – Misty had apparently taken care of it for him – so all Clint had to do was groggily follow the ex-Marine onto a Quinjet and strap in. He was fully asleep again before they lifted off.

About an hour into the flight, he was dragged back to consciousness by a feeling of… disconnection. It wasn’t until he snagged Angie’s arm and pulled her closer that he figured out what he was missing – Gaia.

“You okay?” Angie asked, looking down at him. He was still strapped into his seat and had grabbed her seemingly at random.

“Yeah.” He released her, running his hands through his hair. “How long until we land?”

“Two plus hours.” Angie crouched down so she could make eye contact. “Barton, you look like hell.”

“Thanks.” He rubbed his hands down his face, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes. “Tell me there’s coffee.”

“No coffee for you,” Lance told him, and handed him a bottle of water and an energy bar.

Clint took the items, but glared at Lance. “Tell me you’re joking. For your sake, you’d better be joking, Lancelot.”

“Be nice,” Chuck called from the pilot’s seat. “Doc said no coffee until you’re back on terra firma, preferably not until AC can hand it to you.”

“… the fuck?”

Angie chuckled, mussing up his hair and sitting next to him. She pressed close enough that he could lean against her, which he did immediately. “Apparently, our favorite field medic got explicit instructions from yon wandering druid, and we’ve got very firm orders about the care and feeding of our favorite sniper.”

Clint’s shoulder’s sagged. He had no chance of convincing the Scoobies to ignore orders from Catriona. “This part of that?” he asked, gesturing at her position with the half-eaten energy bar.

“Yup. Close physical contact as much as possible, and I really hope she passed that on to Romanoff so I don’t get my ass kicked in the ring for horning in on you.” Angie rolled her eyes dramatically and Clint chuckled. “You laugh, but you’d enjoy it. Two hot, deadly chicks battling for you.”

“You’re real confident in yourself, Angie,” Chuck drawled. “You really think you’re in the same class as Romanoff in the ring?”

“Nope, but I’m damned secure in my hotness, Chuckles.”

He rolled his eyes. “Barton, you let me know if she’s bothering you, and I’ll have Lancelot tape her mouth shut.”

Clint cracked up as Angie squawked indignantly. “Goddess, it’s almost worth it to see if he could,” Clint managed to get out between bouts of laughter. “Thanks. I needed that.”

Angie ruffled his hair again. “I don’t mind being the butt of the joke if it helps.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“No, you can’t have coffee yet,” Lance told him seriously.

“Not what I was going to ask,” Clint chuckled. “No, a real one. Why was CJ at the range?”

The three Scoobies exchanged glances – and one of those annoying hand signals Clint definitely hadn’t taught them. “Should he not have been?” Chuck asked carefully.

“I thought he wasn’t… comfortable,” Clint said lamely. “It just… surprised me. You basically called for a Care Bear Stare, and I didn’t expect him to be one of them.” At their blank looks, he shook his head despairingly. “Care Bears? You know? Rainbow colored bears with symbols on their tummies? Goddess, now I feel old.”

Lance snickered. “Oh, I’ve heard of them, but it’s way more fun to watch you get flustered.” Chuck murmured something at him, and he desisted.

“Misty put out the bat-signal – see, we can use pop culture references too – and we had decided that it made more sense to include Alley Cat, Doc, and CJ in our chats unless we were specifically going to be going against SHIELD policy… didn’t want to exclude them otherwise, right? Doc’s got some girl he’s sweet on – a nurse in Medical – so he didn’t want to trade out his shift, and Alley Cat’s got issues, but CJ…” Chuck shrugged with one shoulder, his eyes still on the aircraft’s instrumentation. “He showed up. Wanted to help. I didn’t ask why.”

“But I want to know why,” Clint protested. He seized the candy bar that Lance was holding up like a shield. “Damn it. I hate it when people are nice to me and I don’t know why.”

“You’ve got issues, man,” Chuck told him.

“I’ve got so many issues I might as well be National Geographic,” Clint said, biting into the chocolate. Angie laughed, jostling him against her. “Watch it, pillow, or I’ll trade you in for a younger model.”

“Hate to break it to you, but the only younger model here is Lancelot,” Angie told him.

Clint raised an eyebrow. “Yeah? You think that’d stop me?”

Angie blinked and slid her eyes to Lance, who grinned. “Hey, you may be curvier, but I’m squishier.” He sat down on Clint’s other side and wrapped his arm around the archer, pulling him snugly against his shoulder. 

“Hey, that’s… okay, you’re good at this,” Clint said as he relaxed into Lance’s arm.

“I’m not gay,” Lance said in response to the shocked look on Angie’s face. He was laughing, but not heartily enough to disturb Clint. “It is very stereotypical of you to assume the brainy nerd is gay, Ang.”

“You out cuddled me, Lancelot,” Angie protested. “I do not get out cuddled. What the hell?”

“My family’s very tactile,” he explained calmly. He shifted slightly and Clint discovered his eyes were getting heavy. Lance slid his phone out of his pocket with his free hand and pulled up a photo, handing the device to Angie. 

Clint caught sight of it in passing. The cluster of adults and kids looked familiar. He dug his private cell phone out, yawned, and brought up the photos from Christmas at the Rainbow Inn. Lance took the phone from him, grinning.

“This Coulson’s family? Man, that’s a lot of kids.” He handed the phone to Angie. “Take a nap, Clint,” Lance said quietly, hoping that Angie was distracted enough not to hear him. “I’ll keep watch.”

With a nod, Clint let sleep take him under.

The Scoobies were silent until Clint’s breathing leveled out. Angie handed both phones back to Lance. “Did you drug the chocolate or something?” she asked suspiciously. “How did you get him asleep that fast?”

Lance looked down at the archer, who was relaxed bonelessly into his side. “There’s two sides to their relationship with Gaia, you know – they become Warriors and are charged with protecting people… but they also gain Her protection and care. Right now, he’s got people to take care of – us three – and no Gaia. He needed to feel protected.” Lance smiled gently. “This is how Coulson holds him. I figured even though his brain knows I’m not AC, his body might be fooled.” 

Chuck let out a low, impressed whistle. “Damn, Lancelot. You really do have a good eye.”

“I also have a little brother,” Lance told him, “and he gets the same almost-panic look in his eyes when there’s a thunderstorm. He reaches out for someone just like Clint grabbed you, Angie – so I just rolled with it and treated him like I would Dusty.”

“Don’t tell him that,” Chuck advised. “Not that you treated him like a brother. He’s got… some kind of beef with his brother. I didn’t ask for specifics, but me telling him that he was treating us like family triggered a full-scale panic attack that it took AC almost half an hour to talk him out of.”

Angie frowned. “There’s nothing in his file.”

“Not with Black Widow as his wife – and best friend, first,” Lance surmised. “Whatever happened was probably a long time ago – I know he visits his brother’s family. So it’s been long enough that he can put it aside unless the wrong combination of circumstances pops up. Probably not physical abuse – at least, not by the brother – but I’d bet he’s got some emotional scars.” Lance swore quietly but fervently. “Damn, but I hate domestic abuse.”

Angie crossed her ankles and settled back in the seat next to Clint, letting her thigh brush his. “You keep this up, we’ll have to start calling you Sherlock instead of Lancelot. That’s some pretty fine deducing you’re up to.”

~ * ~

“I did not swoon,” Clint protested as they disembarked the Quinjet. “Look, I was tired.”

“You’d literally been awake half an hour, Barton,” Angie needled.

“Agents.” Phil cleared his voice and four pairs of eyes fastened on him. When Phil said ‘Agents’ it sounded a lot like ‘Children.’ He stood at ease, sunglasses on despite the dim pre-dawn light, and he had a tall travel mug in one hand.

“Agent Coulson, I bring you three of DC’s best and brightest… and my shining personality,” Clint said with exaggerated bravado. He saw the corner of Phil’s lips twitch, and grinned. “You got little green men for me to shoot, sir?”

Phil drank in the sight of his husband and hoped it looked like a professional appraisal. From Lance’s amused grin, he wasn’t entirely successful. “Not as of yet, Agent Barton.”

Chuck grabbed Clint’s bag from him – ignoring the archer’s indignant protest. “We’ll load up the SUV while you run the landing checklist.” He’d seen the ubiquitous black SUV at the edge of the tarmac, and set off for it with luggage in hand. Angie and Lance followed him.

“Subtle,” Clint remarked, but stepped back into the cabin and gestured for Phil to follow him. “If that’s coffee for me, you’ll have cemented my undying love for you.”

Phil smiled and handed over the travel mug. “It is.” He watched Clint check the temperature of the liquid before downing a large portion of it. “Come here, pretty bird.” Clint went to him willingly, tucking himself into Phil’s arms and burying his head against the starched collar. “Goddess, I’ve missed you.” Phil slid one hand up to Clint’s head to press it closer into his shoulder, and the other down to the small of Clint’s back.

“You sound a little rough, Moonbeam,” Clint said into his neck. He didn’t want to move. He was considering never moving again.

“I am.” Phil clasped Clint close, breathing deeply of the unique smell – leather, range dust, pizza, and chocolate. How Clint could smell like pizza without having consumed any recently never failed to amaze him, but it seemed to cling to him. “Let’s not do this again, okay? I’m not a young man. My heart can’t take it.”

“Don’t joke like that,” Clint protested. He lifted his head and pressed a kiss to Phil’s lips. “Mine can’t either.”

Phil kissed him again, though he kept it from turning into the heated interlude he wanted. He was well aware they were on borrowed time, that the Scoobies were waiting for them. “How are you feeling? Natasha told me about the psychic shock.”

Clint made a face. “I’m better. Being on the ground helps. Being with you helps more.” He tightened his grasp on Phil, though he didn’t relinquish his coffee mug. “I owe the Scoobies big time,” he admitted. “I’d have… I’m not sure what I’d have done without them, but it wouldn’t have been good.”

“I think, after this mission, when we’re all home again – I’d like to have the whole squad over for dinner,” Phil said, thoughtful. “Reward them with home cooking.”

“Can we have you to ourselves for awhile, first?” Clint asked plaintively. Phil kissed him again, this time to comfort.

“Of course, pretty bird.”

Reluctantly, they parted and Clint strode back down the ramp, turning to watch Phil exit the Quinjet. When they reached the SUV, Phil got into the driver’s seat and Clint the front passenger’s seat. None of the Scoobies commented on how long it had taken.

It was a short drive from the landing strip to the research facility. As he pulled into a parking spot, Phil said, “Welcome to Area 51. Please follow me.”

“Don’t think I didn’t catch the Independence Day quote, treorai,” Clint murmured to him as they walked towards the doors. “Where are we set up, sir?” he asked as they entered the facility. He kept his tone properly respectful, as they were under the eyes of a lot of baby agents, but his body language was cocky and self-assured.

Phil led them towards a briefing room – several workstations were set up and there were files stacked in various locations on the table. “Home for the next few days,” Phil told them. “Mackey, I’ll need you to—”

“Run a statistical analysis of the anomalous data and compare it to existing sources,” Lance supplied, plugging in his laptop.

“Edwards—”

“Checking to see if there are any other researchers in the area that may have information about the anomaly.”

“Bellamy—”

“Witness statements and incident reports. On it, boss,” Chuck said, reaching for a stack of file folders.

Phil rocked back on his heels a little. The Scoobies were not normally so… proactive. Chuck caught his eye and gestured for him to step closer, ostensibly to read the report in Chuck’s hand.

“No harm in letting the legend of Phil Coulson grow a little,” Chuck murmured. “Angie’s hooked on that crime show about the navy cops – NCIS? She decided we’d treat you like Agent Gibbs when we’re in public.”

“Huh.” If he were less tired, he might have been offended by that – they’d essentially cast him in a role and were playing up to it – but he didn’t object. “Alright. Barton? Let’s go over that stack of aerial recon photos.”

“Sure, boss,” Clint said easily, and picked up the stack of photos.

~ * ~


	23. Chapter 23

“Sir?”

Fury set down the report he’d been reading and turned his attention to Hill. “Yes?”

“Banner’s been spotted at Culver University.”

Fury held back his predatory grin with an effort. “Good. Contact Romanoff and have her set up surveillance.”

Maria raised an eyebrow. “Sir, Romanoff just came off an op – she hasn’t even had a debrief yet.”

“You questioning my decision, Agent Hill?” Fury drawled, turning his chair to face her more directly. 

Her expression said yes, but her voice said, “No, sir.”

She turned and walked out of the Director’s office before she lost control of her temper. When she reached her own office, she dialed Natasha’s cell phone.

“Romanoff.”

“It’s Maria.” She paused. “You sound tired as hell.”

“Thanks.” Maria heard a rustling in the background. “I’ve managed to snag a couple of catnaps, but clean-up is a bitch. That, and I’m sorting through resumes to try and find Pepper a new PA.”

“Why?” Maria hadn’t been aware that Natasha and Potts were more than professional acquaintances. 

Natasha made a noise somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “Apparently, when I started learning how to make friends, I also learned how to feel guilty for abandoning them.”

“Friends, huh?” Maria hoped both her skepticism and the vague jealousy didn’t show in her voice.

“Don’t be bitchy about it, Maria,” Natasha chided absently. “I’d choose you over Pepper to watch my back in a fight.”

Maria didn’t know how to answer that. She was never sure how far her friendship with Natasha went – it was hard to read the Russian assassin, and it wasn’t as though Maria had a lot of experience with friends herself. She cleared her throat. “I’m calling because Fury’s given you a new assignment.”

There was heavy silence on the other end of the phone, finally broken by a Russian epithet that Maria was vaguely glad she didn’t understand. “What is the mission?” Natasha asked when she was done cursing. Her voice wasn’t angry or resentful – she just sounded… weary.

“Banner has been spotted at Culver University. Fury wants you to do surveillance.” Maria doodled on her desk blotter. “I conveniently left his office before he could tell me not to send anyone with you, so… do you want a couple of Scoobies?”

Natasha had to take a deep breath as tears pricked at her eyes. “Yeah. I really do. Unless you can come yourself.”

“I’m fairly certain Fury would notice if I was gone,” Maria said dryly. “But three of the Scoobies are in New Mexico with your – handler and partner – ” Maria had to correct herself at the last moment, just realizing that they were on SHIELD phones, “so I doubt he’ll notice a few more. Coulson has Lance, Angie, and Chuck – who do you want?”

“CJ,” Natasha said immediately. “I want a shooter, and Clint trusts him. Sam or Misty, too. I’d like to have someone at my back.”

“I can give you both,” Maria told her. “They’re on med-bay guard, but apparently they’ve got an arrangement with another squad to cover for them when they’re needed elsewhere.”

Natasha let out a long, low breath. “I know there was a time when I resented having anyone else on my missions, but right now I can’t imagine why or how I managed.” She was tired enough that she felt weepy with gratitude – or maybe she was feeling some of Clint’s psychic mood swings?

“Send me the resumes for Potts – I’ll see what I can do,” Maria offered. “I’ll schedule you on a flight from New York to Virginia, and have your Scoobies meet you at the airfield. You should get some sleep, Nat.”

Natasha was quiet for a moment, and Maria had a panicked thought that maybe she wasn’t allowed to use her nickname. She was relieved when Natasha spoke again – and her voice was warmer. “I’ll try. I don’t sleep well away from – home – anymore.” She, too, caught herself at the last moment. “When I get back – after I catch up on my sleep – we should get together. I’m kind of tentatively planning a pedicure night.”

Maria blinked. “Pedicure?”

“You didn’t really think my toenails got purple all by themselves, did you?”

“It’s just very… girly of you.”

Natasha snorted. “Most of the time, Clint paints mine… but I wanted to get you and Misty and another friend together. According to my nieces, I’m about twenty years overdue for my first slumber party.”

Maria hadn’t ever been to a slumber party, either, but she was familiar with them – or at least, how pop culture portrayed them. “Pedicure, booze, crappy movie, junk food?” she asked, letting a little bit of her eagerness bleed into her voice.

“Yup. And, according to the checklist that Rose gave me, we also have to talk about boys, stay up too late, and sleep in sleeping bags.” Natasha was grinning now, Maria could hear her amusement. “Once a month I get a homework assignment from them… they’re teaching me how to have fun.”

“Any chance they’ll teach me?” Maria asked, only half-joking.

Natasha chuckled. “Probably.” She yawned hugely. “Text me the flight details. I’m not going to sleep until I’m in the air, or I’ll have a hell of a time convincing myself to get up.”

“Will do.” 

~ * ~

Phil stepped out of the black sedan and took his sunglasses off, staring down at the raucous gathering of pickups and their drivers surrounding what looked like an impact crater. It took one phone call for the area to be secured, temporary research facility assembled, and researchers to begin scurrying around the object at the center of the crater. Phil directed the chaos with his usual aplomb. He sent Chuck back to Area 51 to retrieve the reports they’d been working with and whatever else he thought they’d need at the new facility. Lance and Angie were assigned to assist the newly arrived scientists, while Clint shadowed Phil on his tour of the facility and inspection of the fallen object.

“You try and lift it?” Clint asked Phil as they stood, shoulder to shoulder, in front of an odd-looking hammer.

“After seeing it tear bumpers off pickups? No.” Phil crossed his arms, looking down at the hammer. “I suppose you tried?”

Clint shook his head emphatically. “No, sir. Mama told me not to touch it.”

“It definitely looks otherworldly.”

After checking to see that no one was in earshot, Clint answered. “It is. Mama says it came from wherever our visitor did – but She won’t tell me where that is. Just that it’s another plane, and that our guest serves another deity.”

“Helpful,” Phil grunted. Fury had called for a sitrep twice in the last hour – despite Phil not being able to tell him anything useful either time.

“She did say neither the object nor the visitor is dangerous…” Clint offered lamely.

“Unfortunately, I can’t put that in my report.” Phil sighed. “If it’s not dangerous, why aren’t you supposed to touch it?”

Clint shrugged. “Best guess? It belongs to our visitor, and is tied to another deity.”

“Not a bad guess,” Phil allowed. He pinched the bridge of his nose and exhaled loudly.

“Headache?” Clint asked.

“Of course. Because being stuck in the desert trying to solve an interplanar mystery while worried about my wife and husband isn’t enough of a trial,” Phil snapped.

Far from being offended by Phil’s response, Clint was… honored. There were not many people that Phil let his guard down with. Every time Clint got a glimpse of pure, unmasked Phil he was reminded how much he loved the man. He had to clear his throat before he could speak. “I bet one of the Scoobies packed tea. They got instructions from Hermione on how to treat me – I’m guessing they’d have gotten some on you, too.”

As luck would have it, Chuck had just returned from Area 51 with both personal and professional supplies – including the canister of headache tea from Phil’s desk. There was also a container of an unfamiliar tea with a handwritten note on it. Chuck handed it to Clint, grinning. “This was in an overnight shipping box from Ireland that arrived at Area 51 while I was there – I’m guessing it’s from your redheaded friend?”

Clint took it from him, cracking the canister open to smell the tea. “You’d be right.” He read the attached note, which was preparation and dosage instructions – and groaned. “She calls it Serenitea.”

Phil laughed – which startled a passing researcher – and plucked a sachet of headache tea out of his own canister. “Any idea where we can get hot water?”

Chuck passed him a thermos and two mugs. At Phil’s raised eye, he shrugged. “I was a boy scout before I was a Marine. Always be prepared.”

~ * ~


	24. Chapter 24

Natasha awoke as the helicopter descended in Virginia. She didn’t recognize the landing pad, but that didn’t faze her, tired as she was. She did identify the three individuals standing at the edge of the landing pad, leaning against a SHIELD SUV. Relief made her stumble, weariness overriding wariness now that she was within sight of allies. CJ leapt forward to support her and Sam took the rucksack off her shoulder. Natasha let them, leaning gratefully on CJ. “Goddess, you have no idea how glad I am to see you,” Natasha murmured. She was tired enough not to guard her emotions as tightly – too grateful to see friends to pretend to be aloof. The incongruity of leaning against CJ – whose last words to her had been less than friendly – wouldn’t hit her until later.

“You’re a sight for sore eyes too, Romanoff,” Misty said, pushing off the SUV to open one of the rear doors. “Hop in. We’re stopping at a safe house to brief you, change into college gear, and hopefully get you a nap.”

“I slept on the flight,” Natasha protested.

“It’s an hour flight,” Sam said dryly. “Even you need more sleep than that.”

“I would argue, but I’m too damned tired,” Natasha admitted, buckling herself into the seat. “Why college gear?”

“You, Sam, and I are going to be students,” Misty told her as she started the vehicle. “CJ’s on overwatch and comms. Three girls intent on exploring a potential college over summer break won’t attract any notice – or at least, any suspicious notice.” She grinned. “I’m sure we’ll attract other attention.”

Natasha groaned. “Can I please wear something not slutty?” she whined.

Misty and Sam exchanged glances. To their knowledge, Natasha had never complained about using her sexuality on ops – but then, she’d never had to do it on two different targets this close together, either. “Sure,” Misty agreed and a moment’s thought. “You want to be a responsible female relative chaperone, or a more mature graduate student?”

CJ cleared his throat before Natasha could answer. “Given how tired you are – don’t glare at me, Romanoff – why don’t you stand as their Auntie Nat? You won’t have to worry about not remembering a cover name, and it’s plausible.”

Natasha swallowed hard. Even though CJ was not really calling her that for himself – he wasn’t claiming her as his aunt – it still tugged at her heart. “I’d like that,” she managed. “If you’re willing.”

“Of course,” Misty agreed immediately. “But you gotta tell Sensei and Cuz that I have permission, or I’m going to get pelted with random objects next time I see Clint.”

That made Natasha laugh, as Misty had hoped, and she relaxed into the seat. It wasn’t a long drive to the safe house. They parked in the attached garage of a nondescript single-family home. From the outside and at a casual glance in the windows, it looked like any of the other moderately maintained houses in the neighborhood, but inside it was full of up-to-date equipment and supplies.

“You eaten lately?” Sam asked Natasha as they ushered her into the safe house.

“Define lately,” Natasha quipped, rubbing her forehead. “I ate before I got on the chopper.”

CJ dipped a hand into a pocket and retrieved a plastic bag, handing it to Natasha. She looked at it blankly. “You have a headache. I brought tea,” he said lamely.

Natasha took the bag, fighting unwelcome tears. “I don’t know how to handle you being nice to me,” she admitted. “It’s rude to say, but it’s true.”

Sam took the bag of tea from Natasha and set it on the counter. She put a kettle of water on the stove and started a pot of coffee. “You gotta admit, CJ, it’s kind of a 180 for you.”

The sharpshooter shrugged, looking embarrassed. “I may have talked to my therapist, and she may have suggested I try treating the three of you as friends and allies until proven otherwise.” He twitched his shoulders uncomfortably. “It’s not that I don’t like you, Natasha – I’ve just got… issues.” He flicked his eyes to meet Natasha’s, and she nodded slowly. “I take it Clint told you?”

“It’s hard for him to keep secrets from me,” Natasha explained apologetically.

“No, it’s okay.” CJ sat down at the kitchen table. Misty and Natasha joined him, Sam staying at the counter to mind both tea water and coffee. “Buffy, I know I should tell you but –”

“It’s okay,” Misty interrupted. “You don’t need to tell me anything. I can make an educated guess, and as long as it’s not going to impact your fieldwork, I don’t need to know anything more.”

“I can tell her, later, if you want,” Natasha offered quietly. She knew how it felt to have to repeat uncomfortable history – to relieve trauma in an endless loop.

CJ shook his head. “No, I’ll do it – just not yet. And we’ll need beer,” he said with exaggerated gravity.

Sam chuckled as she brought Natasha her cup of tea, handed Misty a cup of coffee, and returned with a cup for herself and one for CJ. “Yeah, tragic backstories require alcohol.”

“Or tea,” Natasha protested. “Catriona manages to get them out of people with tea.”

“Mmmhmm. She cheats,” Misty retorted. “She tilts her head to one side, bats those long dark eyelashes, and before you know it everything is spilling out of you. We should have her teach interrogation. We’d have terrorists lining up to be questioned.”

Natasha eyed Misty over the edge of her mug as she sipped tea. “Long dark eyelashes?” she repeated mildly.

Misty’s cheeks colored. “Professional observation.”

Sam sighed and reached into her back pocket for her wallet. She slipped a ten-dollar bill out and handed it to CJ. “Damned sharpshooter,” she grumbled without heat. At Misty’s indignant squawk, Sam laughed. “What, you didn’t think we’d bet on you? Sorry, Buffy.”

“Better explain, or I’m calling you Samantha for the duration of this mission,” Misty warned.

“Damn.” Sam winced. “That’s ruthless.” She traded glances with CJ, who shrugged. “Well, we had a bet on about… um… which side you play for?”

“Since you don’t date, we weren’t sure how to figure it out, but if you go pink for Lady Catriona…” CJ trailed off at Misty’s increasingly irate glare.

“You’ll have to pay back half,” Misty told him, her tone sharper now than was entirely friendly. “I’m bi, thank you. Not that it’s any of your business.”

“Easy, grasshopper,” Natasha murmured. “They don’t know your reasons for not dating any more than you know CJ’s.” At the sharpshooter’s startled glance, she shook her head. “Not the same reasons.” She’d drained half the mug and her headache had backed off enough that she wasn’t in danger of bursting into tears. “That’s a conversation that needs to happen – but not right now.”

“Right.” Misty shook her head to clear it. “Mission at hand. Infiltrate Culver University in the guise of totally clueless potential students, being shepherded by our much more responsible Aunt Nat – and try to find out why Dr. Banner would suddenly reappear in the US after five years on the run.”

~ * ~

Phil’s first meeting with Dr. Jane Foster, her assistant Darcy Lewis, and Dr. Erik Selvig didn’t go as planned, and he had his own preconceived notions to blame.

He’d assumed, based on what he’d read of her research and her standing in the scientific community, that Dr. Foster was like one of the Roswell agents – brilliant, but not particularly people-savvy. That wasn’t a fair assessment of Foster – and it definitely did not apply to Selvig or Lewis.

Foster had a passion he respected, even though it was thoroughly inconvenient at present. She was almost Stark-like in the ferocity she used to defend her equipment and her research – and Phil didn’t make that comparison lightly. She was a petite woman, though taller than Catriona, and he spent a few minutes tracking down a quote in his head that resonated – ‘though she be but tiny, she be fierce.’

Selvig had interacted with SHIELD before, and had a healthy respect (or fear) of the organization that Phil was grateful for – it made his job less menacing and more bureaucratic. He seemed to be a stabilizing influence on Foster – a father figure, Phil guessed. 

Lewis was another story. She was sarcastic, sassy, defiant – Phil thought he’d probably like her, under other circumstances. He had to stifle a smile more than once at her pointed comments. He thought he’d hid his amusement well, but when they were all back in their vehicles to head back to the temporary command center, Clint turned to him with a raised eyebrow. “Do I need to tell Nat about you ogling the busty co-ed?” Behind them in the SUV, Angie choked. Chuck patted her on the back as she coughed.

“She reminds me of Sarah,” Phil told his husband with a smile, ignoring the commotion behind them. “Until she met Iris – and really, until they had the twins – Sarah was a lot like Miss Lewis. Brash. Willing to play dumb, but not willing to see her friends taken advantage of.” He chuckled. “She even wore those ridiculous hats for a while.”

“Think it was all play?” Clint asked. “Lewis, I mean.”

Phil hummed in consideration. “For the most part, yes. If she were truly as incompetent as she’d like us to believe, she wouldn’t still be working for Foster, internship or not. I’d be interested to see what aptitudes she’s trying to conceal.”

“She’s got tech skills,” Angie offered. “Just looking at her iPod, and that ancient phone Foster was carrying – it’s obvious which of the two has coding experience. She’s got some tricky bits wedged into the Apple coding, and that’s not easy. I’d like to track it down, figure out what it does.”

“Not what we’re after,” Phil told her, and she grimaced. “I know, scientific curiosity will eat you alive. If you’re good, I’ll let you play with it after we’ve solved the hammer mystery.”

“Anybody else think it’s odd that Natasha had to deal with a Hammer, and now we do too?” Lance asked, eyes distant. “Or that the foremost research of this type of atmospheric anomaly just happens to be in the exact place to pick up the strongest one in recorded history?”

Clint grunted. “Lance, in the scale of ‘huh’ to ‘Gaia has Chosen you to serve Her,’ this barely registers as a ‘Well, look at that.’”

“Be nice,” Phil chided his husband. He pulled the vehicle back into its parking spot at Area 51 and reluctantly stepped out into the desert heat. “I’ll agree it seems… highly improbable,” he said to Lance as they returned to their temporary work stations.

“Doesn’t really matter,” Chuck told Lance, bumping his shoulder gently. “We can figure out the why and how after we nail down the who and what. Right, Lancelot?”

Lance nodded, reaching for his laptop. “Yeah, I suppose. It’s just… nagging at me. Like there’s something I’m missing.”

“Itchy?” Clint asked, as casually as he could manage. Phil’s eyes shot to him, then to Lance.

“Yeah, kinda,” he answered distractedly. “More like when you get a song stuck in your head, but you can’t remember the words.”

Phil gestured to the office he was occupying and then to Clint, who followed obediently. Phil shut the door behind him. “Does that mean what I think it means?”

“It could be nothing,” Clint hedged. “Catriona was pretty firm that Misty wasn’t going to be Chosen, even though she could see our rings – this could just be natural aptitude on Lance’s part. No need to make hasty assumptions.” Then he swore. “Damn it, even I don’t believe it when I say it.”

Phil checked that the blinds were still secure and then pulled Clint to him, needing physical reassurance. “You know, there was a time when this would have been the strangest thing I’d seen,” Phil murmured, his cheek pressed against Clint’s. “I’d appreciate it if you’d talk to Gaia about Lance. It’s not that I have any objection to him being Chosen, if that’s Her will, but I’d like a heads-up about any situation which might put him in the kind of danger that a Druid would have to save him from.”

Clint shivered. “I promise I’ll ask, but can we change the subject? Because thinking about the Scoobies in mortal peril is not helping with the mood swings.”

“Sorry, pretty bird.” Phil’s arms tightened around him. “Still bad, are they?”

The archer rested his head on Phil’s shoulder, pressing against his neck to breathe deeply of the smell of home and Phil and love. “Better now.”

~ * ~


	25. Chapter 25

They were no closer to an answer as to what the hammer was or how it had gotten there when the temporary facility was infiltrated that evening.

Phil stayed calm, ordering Clint into the air and various agents to attempt to detain the intruder. He wasn’t prepared for the level of skill exhibited by their erstwhile guest – he mowed through all the available agents far too quickly for Phil’s piece of mind.

As Clint watched the burly blonde intruder knock Chuck out of one of the covered walkways and into the mud, he had to admit to a growing admiration. In addition to being a fierce fighter, he was attractive – especially sopping wet in a cotton t-shirt. Perhaps he was beginning to understand his spouses’ fascination with his biceps, because he was definitely admiring the ones on the intruder. He had the muscles of a bodybuilder, or someone who regularly used those muscles against opponents.

He was relieved when Phil did not order him to fire, but thoroughly unnerved by the wordless exclamation from the man. It wasn’t a scream, exactly. A bellow, maybe – full of rage and sorrow and more emotions that Clint couldn’t guess. It made him shiver, though if anyone had asked he’d have blamed it on the rain. He watched through a two-way mirror as Phil attempted to interrogate the intruder. It took longer than he wanted to admit for it to sink in that this was their interplanar visitor – this man was not of their world, and neither was that damned hammer.

He met Phil in the hallway outside the interrogation room, pitching his voice low so as not to be overheard. “He’s the Disturbance in the Force.”

“I figured,” Phil sighed. He wished he’d brought a cup of tea with him proactively, because the conversation – if one could call it that – had kicked his headache from nagging to persistent. “Unfortunately, I can’t take Her word for it that he’s not dangerous – not after the swath he cut through my agents. How’s Chuck?”

“Bruised, dirty, and pissed,” Clint summarized. His eyes darted around them before he put a soothing hand on Phil’s waist, under his jacket. He didn’t touch long, but it steadied both of them. “Did you get a look at those biceps when he was hauling on the hammer?”

Phil’s lips twitched. “I did, yes. Feeling insecure, pretty bird?”

“Oh no. I admired them too. I just wanted to make sure you got to.” He winked before retreating to a professional distance. “Let me know if you want me to take a crack at him. He seems to have some sort of soldier code – he might respond better to a Warrior.”

Phil heard the slight emphasis on the title and had to agree. If Gaia could tell her Warriors about this visitor, it was possible he would have similar information from whatever deity he served. “Give him an hour of silence, and then have at it,” Phil said. “Watch him. I’d like to know how he handles the solitude.”

Clint nodded and stepped back into the observation room, his gaze fixed back on their prisoner. {Anything you can tell me about him, Mama?} he asked the Goddess. The temporary facility was lifted off the desert ground, but not by much – he had solid contact with Her.

\\\I am afraid that I cannot tell you what you wish to know, Boghdoir Barton.//

Right. Not that she didn’t know, but that she couldn’t tell him. Damn. {You got any suggestions?}

\\\Treorai is correct in that you should observe your guest.//

Clint sighed quietly and rested his head against the wall. {Nat?}

There was a pause before she answered, and he worried he’d woken her from much needed rest. {Yes, dearling?} She evidently heard his concern, because the contact deepened enough for him to hear her amusement. {I wasn’t asleep. I’m currently watching Misty and Sam pretend to get wasted at a college bar. They’re very convincing. I made Misty let me taste her drink, just in case she’d managed to get slipped something but no – she’s just that ridiculous.}

He relaxed, a slow smile spreading. {Snap some pictures, would you? I hate that I’m missing that.}

{Pictures have been snapped, have no fear of that,} Natasha assured him. {CJ shoots nearly as well with a camera as he does with a gun.}

{I’m glad you’ve got backup this time, Sunshine.}

{Me too. I’m guessing you didn’t reach across time and space to check up on the Scoobies, though.}

{You’d be right.} Clint pictured the blond intruder for her, careful to focus on the details. Through the glass, it looked like the man was… talking to himself. Weird. {He ring any bells? He hasn’t said anything to Phil so I don’t know what language he’s using but… who the hell is he talking to?}

Natasha peered through his eyes. {He’s tracking with his eyes like there’s actually someone there.}

{Huh.} Clint’s gaze narrowed as he read the intruder’s lips – or tried to. {Well, either he’s not speaking in English or I’ve lost my touch, because the more I focus, the less I understand.}

{Have you got audio? Tone of voice, at least?} Natasha was curious now, and flagged Misty down and made an exaggerated show of putting her cell phone to her ear so the Scoobies would know she was occupied. He could hear her speaking nonsense with her mouth as she talked to him telepathically and was a little awed at her awesomeness. {Really, Clint?} She laughed. {You need more coffee, dearling.}

Clint chuckled and lifted his coffee mug to his lips. {I always need more coffee. To answer your question, no. I can’t hear anything. I’ve got the audio to the room on, but even though his mouth moves, I can’t hear squat.} The visitor stopped speaking and returned to dejected silence. {Damn. Is it just me, or does he look… broken?}

{It’s not just you. I just don’t know what it means.}

Phil opened the door and stepped in, peering at the large man through the glass. “Anything?”

“Nope,” Clint sighed. “Nat’s looking, too, and she’s as clueless as I am. He was talking – I think – his mouth was moving, but I couldn’t hear anything and couldn’t read his lips.”

“Really.” Phil made a thoughtful noise, crossing his arms over his chest. “Was there nothing to hear, or was there some reason you couldn’t hear it?” He shook his head. “Doesn’t matter. Someone is here for him.”

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “No shit?”

“No shit,” Phil drawled, making Clint huff in amusement. “Dr. Selvig is here, claiming this guy’s name is Donald Blake, MD. Does he look like a Donald to you?”

“The only Donald I know is Duck, and Mr. Tall, Blond, and Hunky doesn’t look very ducklike.”

“Hunky?” It startled a small laugh out of Phil. “I suppose he is, but I have my own blond to appreciate.” He leaned over to kiss Clint lightly. “What do you two think? Let him go and see what happens, or keep him here and watch him brood?”

{I’m all for releasing into the wild,} Natasha told Clint. 

“I agree with Nat – right, you can’t hear her – she said she’s good with tag and release. I want to shadow him. If I get caught, so be it but – I’ve got a feeling.” Clint’s eyes were on the warrior again, a frown creeping onto his face. “Mama said he’s not dangerous, but I’m getting a little… itchy.”

“Alright.” Phil kissed Clint once more – because he could – before opening the door. “You’re go for surveillance, Barton,” he said from the hallway, turning to head back towards the facility’s entrance.

~ * ~

Natasha ended the dual conversation with Phil before Misty stumbled back to the table for another drink. “That your sweetheart?” Misty asked with exaggerated care.

“Yes. Sit down and eat something to soak up all that liquor.” Natasha shoved a plate of nachos towards the blonde. “You pick up any listening devices but ours?” she asked quietly into her comm.

“Nope.” CJ’s response was immediate and clear. “Far as I can tell, it’s just us folks.”

“Good.” Natasha swirled the cola in her glass. “Sorry for tapping out on you there – Clint needed my brain.”

“Not a problem,” Misty said easily, turning to offer Sam a hand off the dance floor.

“Whew!” Sam tossed her braid back over her shoulder and dropped into a seat. “Now I remember why I could eat and drink like this in college… because I danced like this in college!”

Natasha snorted. “Even you weren’t foolhardy enough to dance like that without backup. There were a couple of guys out there looking at you like you were filet mignon.”

Sam grinned. “Hey, when I’ve got Auntie Nat watching my ass, I can shake it all I want.” All three of them laughed and Sam shook her hair back again. The moisture and heat from dancing was making her brown curls unwind from their braid, giving her a strange halo of hair. “And this is why I kept it short,” she said ruefully, winding her hair into a sloppy bun and adding another hair tie to it.

“I like it long,” Misty reassured her. “Suits you.” She focused on Natasha again, picking up her own glass and taking a long drink. “So what did Cuz need?”

“Mostly, another opinion on an unidentified intruder at their location – I didn’t recognize him either, but we think it’s tied to whatever disturbance Mother is talking about.” Natasha frowned. “Something’s odd about him.” Not being able to articulate the feeling didn’t help.

Misty patted her hand comfortingly. Natasha was vaguely surprised that it didn’t bother her. “Sensei and Cuz can handle it.”

“I know that.”

The two younger agents exchanged glances. “Right. You’re just vibrating with nervous energy for the hell of it,” Sam said finally, when it was apparent Misty wasn’t going to respond. Natasha scowled, stilling her tapping fingers. She didn’t allow herself to telegraph weakness like this – certainly not when she was in the field.

“Ease off, Sam,” CJ said through the comms. “It’s not breaking character, she just looks irritated at having to shepherd you two.”

“Since when are you the voice of reason?” Natasha griped, then covered her face with her hand. “I’m sorry, CJ, that was rude even for me.”

“You getting hit with Litha feels too?” Sam asked cautiously. “Or is this ‘my partner is in the field and I’m not at his back’ jitters?”

“Probably both.”

Misty looked around the club. They were here to make themselves visible, and purely for that – they wanted to look familiar to a couple of the students when they explored the campus tomorrow, and this was the fastest way to brand their faces into minds. “You want to cut out?”

“No.” Natasha sighed and rubbed her forehead. Sam pulled a teabag out of the miniscule clutch she’d brought with her and offered it to Natasha. “What the hell? Do you guys just stuff these everywhere for emergencies?”

“Pretty much.” Sam dropped the sachet into Natasha’s outstretched hand. “Clint isn’t the only one we got instructions about.”

Realizing it was futile to argue, Natasha slipped the teabag into one of her own pockets and sighed. “You know, there was a time not that long ago that I did this crap by myself.”

“And miss out on all this?” Misty gestured wildly at both her club wear and Sam’s before grinning broadly. “Who am I kidding, you’d probably have lured Banner out of whatever hole he’s burrowed into with the merest twitch of an eyebrow and one crooked hip.”

“You have a hell of a lot of faith in my seduction skills, grasshopper.”

“Nah.” Misty smiled again, this time with a great deal less mischief and more genuine affection. “Just a whole hell of a lot of faith in you.”

~ * ~


	26. Chapter 26

Clint wasn’t sure if it was the peaceful silence of the desert or the strength of his connection to Gaia, but by the time he reached a suitable surveillance spot, he’d begun to regain his emotional balance. Yes, this visitor was strange – the whole situation was strange, but he’d seen worse with SHIELD. 

He was, though, terribly tired of being this emotional. He hadn’t felt this out of control since puberty – and there were a lot of other unpleasant memories tied up with that period of his life.

\\\I deeply regret that you are feeling so unbalanced, my archer,// Gaia said in his mind. \\\You are so very sensitive to the turnings of the wheel, the vibrations of it – you and M’inion both. As tender to them as some of my druids, those with centuries of service to me. It is surprising, and I apologize that it continues to cause me to underestimate the effects upon you.//

He smiled as he settled himself into a prone position, eyes on the firepit lit on the roof of the building Foster operated out of. {I know you do, Mama. I’m sorry that we aren’t normal.}

\\\Do not regret that, Boghdoir. Even as you surprise me, you delight me.// He couldn’t misinterpret the warmth in Her tone, and he felt himself relax more thoroughly. \\\Not since I initiated the most junior druid have I felt such unity in the bond between myself and one of my Chosen – none of the Warriors which preceded you and m’inion took to it as thoroughly. In truth, I would have considered either of you as potential acolytes, studying to become Druids – you have the aptitude.//

{Thanks,} Clint replied automatically, though the admission startled him. He’d never considered that possibility – the only Druid he knew was Catriona, and he didn’t have her immense heart.

\\\Catriona Alanna does indeed have an extraordinary capacity for both love and joy, but that is not a Druidic trait – rather, it is one of the traits which I desired to place in my service, when she became an acolyte. Had your life not been in immediate danger, I would likely not have had Catriona bind you to me – I would have offered you study towards becoming an acolyte and eventually, a druid.// There was a ripple he’d come to recognize as Her version of a sigh. \\\I would rather have a live Warrior than a dead acolyte.//

{Seems like there should be some kind of hybrid gig,} Clint suggested. {You know, like those fighting Buddhist monks or something.}

\\\That is an interesting notion, and I thank you for the suggestion.// She paused. \\\Were it possible to spare you this cognitive dissonance, I would be happy to… but I fear I must add to it. It is necessary at this point for you to know the identity of our guest. His name is Prince Thor Odinson.//

Clint ran the name through what he thought of as his mental Google before it connected to – {Holy shit.}

\\\Divine excrement is oddly appropriate, given His Highness is considered a demigod.//

{You made a joke,} Clint blinked. {I must be in worse shape than I thought, if you’re telling jokes to keep me level.}

\\\You often use humor with me, boghdoir – I thought perhaps it would help. I apologize if I have misunderstood.//

Clint wished again – fervently – that he could reach out and hug the Goddess. {You haven’t misunderstood, Mama. You just surprised me. I’m… still not used to people wanting to make me feel at ease.} His eyes tracked back to the rooftop, where Foster and Thor were sitting on lounge chairs, peering at a notebook. {Am I going to turn a corner at the grocery store tomorrow and bump carts with Zeus? Get flipped off at a red light by Buddha?} 

There was the familiar flutter of Her laughter, and he relaxed even further, propping his head up on his hands. \\\No, my archer. Not that I am aware. I am not familiar with all the deities of all the pantheons – I happen to be well acquainted with the Norse pantheon, as there have been occasions in the past where our Chosen have worked together. Catriona Alanna, in fact, has spent a fair amount of time on the plane from which Prince Thor originates.//

{Huh. Is that why you don’t want her here? He’d recognize her?}

\\\That is part of my reasoning, yes.// There was another pause, one of them that made Clint feel like She was choosing her words very carefully. \\\The Prince is undergoing a trial of sorts, and were he to see Catriona, it is likely he would attempt to enlist her aid. This trial, though, will only be successful if it is done of his own free will, and by his will only.//

{So we’re not, like, going to have to fight him?} That relieved Clint, because he’d seen the bruises on Chuck – and on the other agents that Thor had left sprawled on the ground in his wake.

\\\No. There may be a battle – there is often a trial of arms in the type of challenge he is currently engaged upon – but it will not be yours.//

Clint rubbed his face with both hands, eyes still on the couple by the firepit. {If we’re not supposed to fight him, what are we doing out here?}

For three long breaths, Clint wondered if he’d offended his Goddess by asking. \\\If Prince Thor fails, it will become your battle,// Gaia said finally. \\\Though I know not what form his opponent shall take, or indeed whether it will be physical combat or some other trial – it will not be of this world. As such, I cannot take the risk that he shall fail, and this opponent be left unchallenged against my world and my people.//

{Okay.} With a solid directive, Clint felt the worst of his tension bleed away. He knew how to handle targets of the physical sort – and he’d pit Phil’s brain against anything in the universe with no hesitation as to who would win. {Do I need to keep eyes on Thor?}

\\\It is not an unwise precaution, but perhaps you can have one of your apprentices take over this duty? I believe that you and your treorai need rest together.//

{Yes, Mama.} Clint disengaged his mind from the Goddess, slid his phone out of his pocket, and dialed his husband. 

“Barton, give me a sitrep,” Phil said over the line, and Clint grunted.

“That mean you’re not alone?”

There was noise on the other end and Clint heard a door shut. “I wasn’t. I am now. What’s going on?”

“You ready to up your weird factor for the day?”

“I’ll brace myself,” Phil said dryly. “Spit it out, pretty bird.”

“Gaia tells me his name is Prince Thor Odinson, of the Norse pantheon.”

The silence stretched out long enough that Clint pulled the phone away from his ear briefly to make sure he hadn’t hung up accidentally. “Thor? Norse god of lightning Thor? Wielder of Mjolnir? Oh, fuck.” Phil hissed the last word. “The hammer of Thor, right. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“Who the hell looks at a hammer in an impact crater and thinks back to their damned mythology class?” Clint let his amusement come through in his voice, hoping to reassure his husband.

Phil sighed. “I don’t know, pretty bird. If you’d asked me yesterday, I’d have said he must be delusional. Well, maybe last week.” He paused. “Actually, I hate to say it, but I think I’d have believed it any time after you were Chosen.”

“Yeah… the confirmed knowledge of one deity does kind of open the possibility of others, I guess.” He ran his finger through the dirt near him, drawing random shapes. “Mama gave me some more information and what he’s doing here, and she suggested I have one of my ‘apprentices’ take over surveillance. Apparently, we both need sleep. Together.”

“I can’t argue with that. What is he doing now?” 

Clint looked back to the roof, confirming his targets hadn’t moved. “Foster and Thor are sitting on the roof of that crappy building with a fire pit, writing in a notebook that looks a hell of a lot like one you confiscated this morning.”

Phil sighed. “Of course it does. I wonder who grabbed it, Thor or Selvig? Nevermind. That doesn’t matter. Which Scooby do you want?”

“I kind of figured you’d want Lance on research, and maybe Angie. Chuckles is probably the best choice.”

“If you get much better at anticipating, they’re going to promote you to handler,” Phil told him dryly. “I’ll let Chuck know.”

“Don’t threaten me with desk work, Moonbeam,” Clint grumbled. “You’re terrible, and I love you. Yeah, send Chuck out. I’ll head back once I’ve briefed him.”

“Alright. I love you too.”

Clint hung up the phone and stared across at the glow of the fire pit. He let himself settle into the half-meditative state of a sniper, and so it felt like no time at all before he heard Chuck approaching. He carefully raised himself back to a standing position. His stealth was probably unnecessary – it looked as though Thor and Foster were well occupied – but it was habit. Chuck stepped close enough to him that they could whisper, carefully shielding the sound with muffling hands to prevent it from carrying.

“So, AC says I’m on stakeout because your gut says there’s something hinky about the human battering ram over there?” Chuck asked, gesturing towards the firepit.

“Hinky is a good word for it,” Clint agreed with a sigh. “I’m sorry to have to pass this off, but –”

“But hell,” Chuck interrupted forcefully. “You need rest and so does AC, and neither of you will get it if you stay out here. So. What am I looking for?”

Deciding it wasn’t worth arguing about, Clint sidestepped Chuck’s protectiveness. “Our guest is… well, divine.” At Chuck’s raised eyebrows, Clint shrugged. “His name is Prince Thor Odinson. Presumably the hammer no one can lift in the middle of an impact crater is Mjolnir. Gaia tells me he’s a demigod.”

“Alright.” The ex-Marine crossed his arms over his bruised chest, thinking. “If he’s the mighty Thor, why couldn’t he lift the hammer?”

“Dunno.” He handed Chuck a khaki rucksack with a stash of field rations, a thermal blanket, and a few other stake-out necessities. “I’m hoping we get a chance to find out, but in the mean time…”

“You’re going back to the motel to get some actual shut eye – after you eat,” Chuck told him firmly.

“You always this much of a mother hen, Chuckles?” Clint couldn’t decide if he was insulted or flattered by the attention to his well-being.

The former Marine drew himself up and pinned Clint with a very thorough look, and Clint braced himself for a lecture on military preparedness or the health of the team or some other team-building slogan, but Chuck surprised him. “I won’t apologize for caring about you, Clint,” the second-in-command said quietly. “The three of you turned a motley crew of recruits into a unit, and then you turned us into a family. It was a decent crew, and a good unit – but it’s a hell of a family. I’m doing my part to keep it that way.”

Clint would swear to his dying breath that it was sand in his eyes, damn it.  
~ * ~


	27. Chapter 27

Clint stepped into the motel room with profound relief. Phil was propped up against the headboard, dressed for bed, with a file open on his lap. The room was clean but tacky – no better or worse than the hundreds of motel rooms Clint had stayed in over the years. None of them had ever been more of a refuge, though.

“Hi,” Phil said, closing the file on his lap and setting it on the bedside table. “You look wiped out, pretty bird.”

The archer dropped his gear where he stood, stripping out of tactical gear as he moved the few strides from door to bed. He dropped onto the duvet next to Phil and reached for him with both hands, cupping his cheeks, drawing him close for a long, intimate kiss. When their lips parted, Clint didn’t move away – just pressed his forehead against Phil’s and concentrated on breathing.

Phil raised one hand to cover Clint’s, squeezing his fingers lightly. “Are you alright, lovebird?”

“I’m getting there.” Clint drew back far enough to make eye contact and felt muscles relax across his shoulders that he hadn’t known were tense. The calming that had begun in the desert intensified now that he was with his husband – the only thing that would have made it better was Natasha’s presence.

{I’m as close as I can be, dearling,} Natasha said in his mind.

With a gentle finger, Phil touched the crease which always formed when Clint was talking to Natasha. “Is Natasha using your eyes and ears?” Clint nodded, and Phil looked into his eyes, though his words were for Natasha. “I told you I’d take care of him for you, my love,” he murmured.

{I wish I could be there with you both, but I am least tucked up alone in a hotel room… and wouldn’t mind if my achroi ghra felt like letting me live vicariously through them.}

“Is she suggesting we entertain her?” Phil asked, a smile growing.

“Yeah.” Clint bridged the gap between them to press another kiss to Phil’s lips, fingers moving to caress his hair, his face. It no longer surprised him how often Phil seemed to read their minds. “I should be responsible and get some sleep but – ”

“But you need this as much as you need sleep,” Phil answered for him. “We all do.” He slid his hands down Clint’s sides, letting them slip under the hem of his t-shirt, caressing gently.

“I always need you,” Clint breathed. “Both of you. My Sunshine that brightens my days – my Moonbeam that lights up my darkness.” He didn’t care how ridiculous he sounded – would never have imagined saying such things to anyone before his bond with his achroi ghra.

~ * ~

“Coulson.” The voice at the door was impatient, as though this wasn’t the first time he’d said the name. The accompanying rap on the door had a similar tone. Phil rolled slightly away from Clint to see the clock and realized it was well past his usual rising time. “Please don’t make me come in there.”

It was the pleading that gave him away. Phil tried to stifle the chuckle but Clint heard him, raising an eyebrow as he swam up out of sleep. “Lance is at the door,” Phil told him. “And he’s afraid to come in.”

Clint snorted. “Be a good little Scooby and pick the locks, Lancelot,” Clint called out. “We’re both covered.”

It took Lance several minutes to pick the lock on the motel room door, and he opened it cautiously. When he stepped inside, his eyes landed on his handler and senior trainer, still curled up in bed. The comforter was pulled up to their armpits, but both of their left arms were outside the blanket and clasped together. “I… uhh… I’m sorry to interrupt,” Lance said lamely.

“You aren’t,” Phil assured him. “We just needed a few more minutes.”

“Normally I’d give you crap for your picking skills, but Phil’s right – we needed the time.” Clint’s voice was not his normal jocular tone – it was softer, somehow more… open.

“I really wish I didn’t have to pull you away,” Lance said, and there was honest regret in his eyes.

“Spit it out, Lance,” Clint said with a sigh. “We know you wouldn’t be here without a reason.”

“There’s been another atmospheric anomaly,” Lance admitted reluctantly. “Pretty much in the same spot Foster’s data shows from the wee hours of the 31st.”

“Chuck report anything?” Phil asked, folding back the comforter to slide out of bed. He was glad now that they’d slipped back into boxers and tees before sleep – although the widening of Lance’s eyes was amusing.

“Uh, no, sir,” Lance answered.

“You sir me now?” Phil asked dryly.

Clint glanced over. Somehow, Phil had managed to get halfway into a suit already, his movements graceful and efficient. “I’m telling you, it’s the suit,” Clint told him. He too rose from the bed, reaching for the various pieces of his tactical gear. It was a lot harder to locate than Phil’s clothes but then he’d been in a bit of a hurry when he’d undressed last night.

Lance was actually thinking of what Clint had done to Chuck at Misty’s place – the insane, overprotective urges he apparently had to fight this time of year. He figured a little professional conduct was a good way not to have Clint think he was hitting on Phil – not that he would. But it seemed prudent to be cautious. “Sorry, sir.”

Phil shot a glance towards the Scooby, who was standing nearly at attention with his eyes focused on one of the badly painted little green men on the far wall. “Ah.” Phil knotted his tie, his eyes not leaving Lance. “I see.”

Clint’s eyes bounced between the two of them. “What the hell, Lancelot? You got a problem with us all of a sudden?”

Startled, Lance met Clint’s eyes. “No. Not at all. You know that. I just… didn’t want to… I don’t know, trigger you by looking too much at AC.”

The fight left Clint’s expression and instead he grinned fondly at Lance. “You’re adorable. First you cuddle me on the plane—”

“He what?” Phil blurted.

“I, uhh. Agent Barton was in some distress, owing to the separation from Gaia and magnified by his Litha symptoms, so I emulated methods I have seen you use effectively to soothe him, sir.”

“Good Goddess, relax, Lance,” Phil said, shaking his head. “I’m not going to fly off the handle at you for comforting my husband.”

“It was really sweet,” Clint said with a wink at Lance. “Tucked me into his shoulder just like you do, and I was out like a light.”

“Thank you,” Phil told Lance. His tone was light, but he met the younger man’s eyes long enough to convey genuine, deep gratitude.

“I’d say anytime, but I’m really hoping the whole mess of circumstances doesn’t happen often,” Lance admitted.

“Agreed.” Phil flicked his hands casually over his hair and then turned back to Lance, now fully in his Agent Coulson persona. Behind him, Clint grinned at the expression on Lance’s face. Clint had done his own transformation, but the difference between Clint and Agent Barton wasn’t as dramatic.

“You want me at the site with you, boss, or on Thor?” Clint asked Phil. He couldn’t help but tug at the man’s already perfectly straight tie, needing just that extra domesticity.

“What does your gut say?”

Clint paused, rubbing one hand over his other forearm. “Itch says to go to Thor. Heart say not to let you out of my sight. Natasha said not to be an idiot.”

Phil leaned forward and kissed Clint lightly. “Trust Gaia. I’ll be fine. Take the SUV,” Phil offered, tossing Clint the keys. “I’ll ride with Lance up to the site. Or he’ll ride with me.” Phil quirked a half-smile at the younger agent, who immediately handed over the keys. “As soon as I can, I’ll head towards you – I want to have words with Mr. Odinson. Excuse me… Dr. Blake,” Phil corrected himself with an eye roll. “Remember, we don’t officially know his name yet.”

“Right.” Clint sighed. “Alright. You’re right. You’re always right.” It took more willpower than he’d expected to walk out the motel room door without his husband – and he didn’t think he could have done it if not for Phil staying calmly in sight, and Gaia and Natasha reassuring him telepathically.

~ * ~

“Is he going to be alright, sir?” Lance asked as he belted himself into the passenger seat of the sedan.

“You really don’t have to sir me when we’re alone, Lance,” Phil told him gently. “I’m sorry if I’ve done something to make you revert to formality. It wasn’t my intention.”

Lance looked out the passenger window. “I know.”

Phil waited for the younger agent to continue, but Lance remained silent. That worried Phil – both as a friend and a senior agent. “What’s on your mind, Lance?”

“Have the three of you talked about life after SHIELD?” Lance asked finally. “After someday?”

“Not in much detail,” Phil admitted.

“What happens to us?”

Phil blinked, his eyes flickering across to Lance’s briefly before returning to the road. “What do you mean?”

“Somehow, I don’t think the Scooby Squad would function under another handler… and I don’t know that we’d want to. So… is there any place for us in this future of yours? Or is this… family thing just… temporary? Most of the others don’t have much real family, but I do – I don’t know if I can turn it off if you three just… walk away.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to,” Phil murmured. “None of us would. We haven’t discussed it, but we’ve also never considered a future that didn’t include our Scoobies. I’ll talk to Clint and Nat, and we’ll think about it.”

Lance relaxed into his seat. “When I comforted Clint on the flight here, it hit me. I have a little brother, and I comfort him in pretty much the same damned way, and the idea this was just… temporary…”

“Don’t tell Clint you think of him like a brother,” Phil cautioned.

“I know. Chuck said something similar. Made me want to go find Clint’s brother and rearrange his face, which isn’t a familiar feeling for me.”

Phil let out a noise somewhere between a laugh and a growl. “It didn’t used to be for me, either, but Barney seems to bring it out in most people. I think he might be able to drive Catriona to violence, and that takes some skill.” 

Phil pulled the sedan up into the semi-circle of SHIELD vehicles at the edge of the burned sigil – rune? – on the ground. As they watched, another beam of light hit the rune, darkening the edges again, and leaving behind a tall… robot?

“Is that one of Stark’s?” an agent asked him.

Mastering a sigh, Phil answered with more flippancy than he usually let his subordinates see. “I don’t know, the guy never tells me anything.” He raised the bull horn to attempt to communicate with him – it – the robot? – but didn’t get very far.

“Get down!” he shouted. Later, much later, he would wonder where his alarm came from – Army experience, SHIELD experience, working with Clint and Natasha, or even Gaia – but ultimately, it didn’t matter. Whatever caused him to shout saved lives. As the robot blazed what Phil would swear was a death ray through the cars, agents dived for cover and attempted to return fire. None of the shots seemed to damage the robot at all – it dismissed them all as unimportant and being to move towards Puento Antigua.

Agent Coulson took over before husband Phil could, and shortly he was shouting orders regarding triage and communications, ordering agents to see if any of the vehicles were still operational, using his own hands to staunch the bleeding in the femoral artery of one of the Roswell baby agents. He couldn’t let go, or the woman would die – but he also didn’t know how long it would take help to get here. So far, none of the radios had been operational, and none of the vehicles – he couldn’t very well ask one of the agents to just set off in the direction of Roswell and start running through the desert, could he?

“Sir, you’re injured,” Lance said urgently from across the prone body of the female agent – she was the most seriously wounded, but there were plenty of other shrapnel wounds. Phil was certain they’d find more injured – or deceased – once they’d cleared the rest of the vehicles, but he couldn’t pull away now to direct that search.

“It’s not important,” Phil told him calmly.

“It damned well is,” Lance shot back. He finished tying a bandage over the arm of the agent he’d been helping and knelt down next to Phil. “I’m not risking the wrath of Barton or Romanoff if they find out I let you bleed and did nothing.”

Phil just shook his head. It wasn’t a fatal injury, or Catriona would have appeared – and as much as he did not want to court death, he found himself even more reluctant to have the druid involved in this bloody scene.

“It is not just fatalities which I treat, treorai,” he heard a voice say – and looked up to see every able-bodied agent pointing a weapon at the White Druid, who stood calmly at the edge of their makeshift triage center, hands raised to show she was unarmed. A large satchel was slung over one elbow. “And though I thank you for your concern, this is by no means the worst I’ve seen.”

“Hold your fire,” Phil barked. “She’s a friendly.”

Catriona smiled brightly at the agents as she stepped to Phil, putting one hand on his shoulder as she knelt in the dirt. Her hands slid down his until she could feel the shredded artery. “Ah, there we are.” She smiled at the young woman. “Rest easy now, alanna. This won’t hurt.” Catriona replaced Phil’s fingers with her own, ignoring the fresh blood. She closed her eyes and murmured, then lifted her hands and stroked one finger across unblemished skin. “There now, child.” Catriona rose, wiped her hands on her robe – which remained immaculately white – and moved to the next prone figure.

In less than twenty minutes, every injury too large for a band-aid had been healed by the druid, including the four-inch laceration to Phil’s forehead that had so distressed Lance.

When the last bleeding had been staunched, Catriona tilted her head at Phil. “Why are you not with Boghdoir?” She had the wisdom not to use a name that the SHIELD agents would identify with Clint, which Phil was grateful for.

Phil merely looked at her. How could he explain that he could not abandon his people – his injured men and women – to take the single running vehicle to follow after the object of their destruction to assure the health of the husband he was not supposed to have, in a conflict involving a man who was not of this world?

“Cavalry’s here,” Lance told Phil quietly. A convoy of SUVs was rapidly approaching. “Take the car. Go.”

“Mackey,” Phil said as he turned to the vehicle. “You’re in charge of the scene. Catriona? You staying or coming with me?”

The druid smiled again. “I shall stay with the injured, treorai, as is my duty to the Goddess. Go.”

He went.

~ * ~


	28. Chapter 28

“So…” Lance drawled. “You must be Catriona.”

The druid laughed. “I do apologize, there wasn’t time for introductions. Yes, I am Lady Catriona O’Clare, the White Druid.” She curtseyed formally, extending the greeting to all the agents avidly watching.

“Shit,” one of the baby agents breathed. “I’ve read about you.”

“Oh, I hope you don’t believe it all,” Catriona demurred. “Honestly, some of the nonsense that’s been put down about me over the centuries – ”

The convoy of SUVS pulled to a stop and agents began piling out – and training weapons on Catriona. She raised her hands again with a sigh, but even as she did so, multiple SHIELD agents put themselves between her and the muzzles of their colleagues’ weapons. “She’s a friendly,” more than one repeated.

Chuck lifted both his eyebrows and turned to Lance. Though they were not technically the two most senior agents on scene, they were trained by Agent Coulson himself, which gave them weight in the field. “Sitrep, Lancelot?” He’d meant to snap out the surname with military precision, but at the last minute, his mouth betrayed his relief at seeing his colleague relatively unharmed.

“I’ve got eight disabled vehicles, nineteen formerly wounded personnel, no fatalities.”

“Formerly wounded?”

One of the baby agents – the woman, Catriona recognized, that she’d healed first – pointed a finger in her direction. “The White Druid healed us.”

“I’ve also got the White Druid, and Agent Coulson is en route to Puento Antigua in the sole operative vehicle, in pursuit of the… big ass robot that mowed us down with a death ray.”

Chuck’s eyebrows lifted further. “Okay then. Load ‘em up,” he barked at the agents he’d brought with him – the combination of his Marine background and Coulson training made them respond instinctively. “You let AC go off after it alone?” Chuck asked Lance quietly, gesturing him to one side. Catriona followed.

“Clint’s in town,” Lance explained, his own voice pitched low. “I wanted AC out of here before the switch flipped back from Phil to Agent Coulson. He needs to get to Clint.”

“Treorai and boghdoir are both well,” Catriona reassured them, but both Lance and Chuck blinked at her. “Phil and Clint.”

“How’d you know we needed you, Chuckles?” Lance asked urgently. “None of the comms worked, and – ”

“I got a text message,” Chuck said dryly. “From an unknown number, with GPS coordinates. Signed off as the White Druid.” He turned to Catriona. “I take it that’s you?” Chuck asked, looking her up and down.

“Let me guess. You thought I’d be taller,” she said with a sigh.

Chuck grinned. “Nah, I’ve seen a picture. I was just expecting more…” he waved his hands around vaguely. “Pomp.”

Catriona wrinkled her nose. “Only when necessary, and speed was more important in this case.” She watched as her patients were loaded into vehicles, torn and bloodied clothes the only remnants of life-threatening injuries. “It might be best if I merely disappear in the confusion between here and base,” she admitted. “Your Director does not see me positively, and it would do you no favors to be seen overmuch in my company.”

“I don’t give a damn what he thinks about you,” Lance began hotly, but desisted when Catriona rested one hand on his forearm.

“I know. And I appreciate that. But I do not wish to cause harm.”

Chuck folded his arms and glowered at her. “You used a fair bit of voodoo today, right? With the travel and the healing and all? Enough for you to have nightmares, if you go off alone?” The guilty expression on her face confirmed his guess. “Uh-huh. If you think I’m going to tell AC or Clint that I let you run off to save my own hide, you’ve got another think coming. Get in the damned car.”

Meekly, Catriona obeyed – but Lance saw her stifle a small smile as she did so.

~ * ~

Clint nearly broke cover when he saw his husband step out of the vehicle and approach Prince Thor – and when he noticed the blood on his jacket. He waited, until Phil had spoken to Thor, until Thor had clasped Dr. Foster to him and took off in dramatic fashion – waited until the Warriors Three, Selvig and Lewis were shepherded into vehicles to drive back towards the “Bifrost site” that Phil had just left – and then he couldn’t wait anymore.

Phil caught him as he flung himself against the older agent, hands frantically searching for the cause of all the blood. “Easy there, pretty bird. Catriona patched it up. It was just a cut – nothing serious. You know how head wounds bleed.” At her name, Clint’s frantic eyes met Phil’s, question in them. “No, She didn’t Choose me. Apparently, praying to Gaia when you are literally holding an agent’s life in your hands gets Her attention. Catriona appeared, healed all the wounded, and then told me to get to you.”

“That… Destroyer? You guys got hit by it?”

Phil tightened his grasp on Clint. “Yes. It landed at the – what did he call it, the Bifrost site? – took out all but one of the cars, injured a hell of a lot of agents. Then it took off after you. Or after Thor, I suppose, but it felt like it was after you.”

“We should go,” Clint said reluctantly. “If we’re too far behind, it’ll raise more questions.”

“I don’t care,” Phil said calmly.

Clint’s eyebrows shot up. “Moonbeam, you know I support you in whatever you do, but I really don’t think today is someday.”

“Clint.” Phil’s grasp tightened painfully. “Today I watched a weapon of mass destruction from another planet take out half a dozen vehicles and more than two squads as carelessly as you’d throw away a paper cup. Then I get to the town I sent my husband to, and see it’s been ravaged by the same weapon of mass destruction, as well as a damned force of nature demigod who, with his brilliant tactical mind, used a destructive force at least as catastrophic as the damned weapon he was defending us from before declaring himself our ally and that he must leave immediately – meaning he won’t be helping with any of the recovery efforts. So no, I don’t care if it raises questions at SHIELD that I didn’t immediately get back into the single vehicle running after we were attacked by the Destroyer and drive straight back to the site where it attacked us. I don’t care if Nick Fury himself demands to know why I took five minutes to breathe before I went back to the location where I held a baby agent’s femoral artery together with my fingers while I prayed. I don’t care.”

{Nat, I need backup,} Clint shot out with his mind even as his hands were soothing Phil. It was so rare to see him this undone – his hands were shaking, and Clint would swear there were tears in his eyes. {I don’t know what to do.}

{Exactly what you’re doing, dearling,} Natasha soothed immediately. He felt her borrowing his eyes and ears, knowing she was seeing Phil in his rattled, raging state. {Make eye contact with him for me, will you love?} She’d never called him that before. He didn’t know why that was what hit him, but it stood out in his brain like a red rose in a field of peonies. {I love you, and how your mind sees such beauty in us,} she said quietly. 

He did as she asked, having to direct Phil’s chin with his hand to make eye contact. “Nat wants to look in your eyes,” he explained when Phil fought the movement. Clint didn’t think it was intentional – it was more a reflex of not wanting to be any further out of control at the moment.

“I wish she was here. Wish you were here,” Phil murmured. “I don’t… I don’t know if I can… I need…”

“You need us,” Clint supplied. He pulled Phil’s head against him, more roughly than he usually did. “We need you. It’s okay.” He focused on his own breathing, hoping it would stabilize Phil’s. If he hadn’t seen the man handle gunfire without breaking a sweat, he’d think this was a panic attack.

{It probably is, dearling,} Natasha said softly. {Mother did say he’s sensitive to the solstices too. And he did just have a pretty traumatic day.}

{Did you see whatever you were looking for?} Clint asked. He hadn’t maintained the eye contact with Phil long, needing even that extra closeness of having cheeks touching.

{Yes.}

{You wanna share with the rest of the class?}

There was a long enough pause that he wasn’t certain she was going to tell him. Before her words, he felt a flush of heat in his cheeks and the entirely unfamiliar emotion of shame coming from her. {I needed to know it wasn’t just you he needed.}

Clint didn’t know whether to laugh or cry, but knowing that both would startled his husband, he kept the reaction internal. {He needs you. We need you. If I had Catriona’s plane-walking or Thor’s Bifrost or – fuck, if I had Scotty’s damned transporter, we’d all three be together right now.}

Natasha let him hear the combination of laugh and sob that she let out, and he spared a moment to hope she was alone or she’d be mortified. {Phil’s geek is rubbing off on you, dearling. I just… needed to see it, I guess. And yes, I’m alone – although Misty and Sam are just next door, and probably can hear me, but will deny it.}

He debated briefly before finally just throwing his self-preservation to the wind. {Would you please go to them, and let them comfort you, because I can’t? And Phil can’t? And we’ll both be better if we know you’re really not alone?}

Shock answered him first, colored then by what he really hoped was pleased surprise. {Yeah. Yeah, I will. Tell Phil.}

“I’ve managed the impossible, Moonbeam,” Clint murmured into Phil’s ear. “I talked Natasha into letting Sam and Misty stand in for us, at least in the hugs department. I need to know somebody’s got arms around her, and since it can’t be us…”

Phil let out a shaky laugh. “I didn’t even know I needed to know that, but that helps.” He nuzzled against Clint for a moment longer before pulling away. “You’re right. Today isn’t someday, and we should get back to work.”

“Nat would never forgive us if she missed the fireworks on someday,” Clint agreed, smoothing Phil’s hair back to its normal, perfect state. 

“You’re right about that, too.” Phil stroked a hand down Clint’s back once before loosening his grip. “Would you drive, pretty bird? I need… I need to just watch you for a while.”

“Of course.” Clint reached into Phil’s pocket for the car keys. They were sticky – tacky with drying blood.

“It’s not mine,” Phil reminded Clint when the archer froze in place. “I don’t even remember her name. One of the baby agents from Roswell. She’s alive right now because of this. Us. Gaia, and Catriona, and… us.” Phil’s voice was awed – which in general, Clint preferred over the earlier hysteria. Impressed Phil he knew how to handle. Panicky Phil not so much.

“Yeah, but she doesn’t know about the whole picture,” Clint retorted. He resumed his movement towards the driver’s side of the sedan, noticing the extensive damage from shrapnel, though obviously nothing vital had been hit. “Right now, I bet she’s telling everyone she knows that not only did the Legendary Agent Coulson save her life, but she got to meet the mysterious White Druid, too.”

“I’m not legendary,” Phil protested as he climbed into the passenger seat of the sedan. His eyes never left Clint.

“You are, Moonbeam,” Clint teased gently. “Even if they don’t know the half of it.” Clint reached over and clasped Phil’s hand, though his eyes stayed on the road. “What are the chances of us getting a couple of days off when we get back to HQ? Even a long weekend?”

“Since I intend to let Fury see how tired I am, pretty damned good,” Phil said firmly. “Nat said he believes the hype about her… it seems he believes in the Legendary Agent Coulson too. Except this living legend needs some time off. Preferably time that involves my loves, a large bed, and no alarms.”

“Agreed.” Clint didn’t bother to disguise the longing in his voice.

~ * ~


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the diversions from Hulk canon, but I have my reasons.

Natasha refused to acknowledge the tremor in her voice as she knocked on door of the hotel room Misty and Sam were sharing. “Can I come in?”

Misty opened the door immediately. Natasha suspected she’d been standing at it, waiting. “What’s going on?” She ushered Natasha into the room, closing the door and throwing the safety bolt.

“I promised Clint I’d let you two comfort me.”

Sam gaped briefly. She’d been sitting on the bed, reading through a file, but immediately discarded it and patted the comforter beside her. “Comfort we can do. You want to talk, or just be here?”

Natasha closed her eyes for a moment, not wanting to admit that she was fighting back tears. “No talking yet.” She slid onto the bed next to Sam and curled up tightly. Misty bracketed her, resting a casual arm over her.

Sam reached for the file again, returning to reading it as though she provided physical comfort for deadly assassins on a daily basis – which, Natasha reflected, wasn’t all that far from the truth. Misty slipped her cell phone out and let it absorb her attention, only the gentle stroking of her fingers betraying that she was attuned to Natasha’s presence.

Misty was not, however, playing a mindless game or scrolling social media. There was no way that Natasha would appear in their hotel room with orders to be comforted if something hadn’t happened to either AC or Clint – or both. She shot texts to the Scoobies that were in New Mexico and, after being briefed by Lancelot, did open a game – if only to look convincingly distracted while she pondered how to help Natasha.

She knew that Phil was alright physically – Catriona had seen to that. None of her men had laid eyes on Clint, but given he’d communicated telepathically with Natasha, he was probably not seriously injured. Whatever was going on was likely emotional, then – something confirmed when one of Natasha’s deep breaths caught in her throat and became a sob.

Misty set her cell phone aside and shuffled down the bed until she was lengthwise against Natasha’s back, as much physical contact as she could manage. “I got a briefing from Lancelot,” she told Natasha quietly. “You don’t have to tell me what happened – but I would kind of like to know if today is someday. Because if it is, I’ve got some calls to make.”

“It isn’t.” Natasha rubbed at her eyes, a motion that made her look heart-breakingly young. “It almost was. Turns out that even Phil’s got limits.”

Sam set aside the file to shimmy down the bed as well, facing Natasha. She wasn’t making as much physical contact – she wasn’t as close with Natasha as Misty was – but her presence was comforting nonetheless. “How can we help?”

“You already are,” Natasha murmured. “I thought I was just humoring Clint, but… damn it, he was right. Don’t either of you ever repeat that.”

Misty chuckled. The threat, at least, sounded like normal Natasha. “My lips are sealed, nascha.”

Natasha’s eyebrows shot up. “Since when do you speak Navajo?”

“Damn.” Misty groaned. “I was really hoping that was one of the languages you didn’t speak.”

“And why are you calling me ‘owl’? Clint’s the one with the bird fetish.”

“Because it sounds like your name but isn’t, and it means something wise and beautiful,” Misty murmured, hiding her face in Natasha’s hair. “Please don’t be mad.”

“I’m not.” Natasha twisted until she could see Misty over her shoulder. “I’m surprised.”

“Why?” Sam asked.

“I’m not… I don’t…” Natasha squirmed. “People don’t like me enough to give me nice nicknames. Didn’t used to, anyway. People like me get aliases and callsigns, not nicknames.”

“Are you having a crisis of faith here? Do I need to get you down to the ground floor and onto some grass?” Misty tried to make it sound humorous, but her concern was heartfelt. Natasha shook her head. “What is going on in that brain of yours? Please don’t make me text Clint.”

“I should be there. I need to be there. And I can’t.” Natasha reached for Sam and pulled her close, snugging back into Misty until she was surrounded by the two younger women. “It’s not someday. I can’t ditch the mission and go running off to my husbands even though they are both heartworn and…” her voice trailed off. Misty wrapped her arms tighter around Natasha, not knowing what else to do.

The knock on the door startled all three of them. Sam leapt up first. “It’s CJ,” she told them when she’d peeked through the lens, opening the door to their fourth team member. “What’s up?” Her eyes flicked to Natasha and Misty, still on the bed, before back to CJ – and a quick hand signal asked him not to mention it.

“The… uhh… army is here,” he said. “At least, they’re… well, I think they’re after Banner.”

Natasha swore, loudly and in several languages as she unwound herself from Misty. “Damn it, grasshopper, you’re as clingy as Clint. Let go!” Misty released her reluctantly. “Why’d you leave your post? Where is Banner?”

CJ showed her the screen of his cell phone. “I’ve got video on him, he’s in the lab with Ross – ”

“Clear the labs. I don’t care how you do it. Set off the fire alarms. Call in a bomb threat. Whatever.” Natasha broke off to swear again. “I hate it when Fury is right!” She pointed at each of the Scoobies in turn. “Get suited up. If you say the army is here, that means General Ross is here – and that means he’s going to corner Banner, who’s going to transform, and we’ll have as big a clusterfuck here as Phil’s got in New Mexico!”

Misty and Sam moved immediately to follow her order. Natasha strode to the door to enter her own room, CJ trailing after her. “Um. Agent Romanoff?”

“What?” she barked as she stripped out of the civilian clothes she’d been wearing and reached for her tactical suit.

CJ averted his eyes politely. “If I could make an observation, ma’am?”

“Only if you haul that stick out of your ass before I beat you with it.”

He cleared his throat, and she turned to look at him. He met her eyes. “You shouldn’t be in the field like this.” It was the measured tone that made her bite back her immediate and violent response. “You’re reacting emotionally, not tactically – and I know there are extenuating circumstances. It’s not an accusation, it’s… damn it, if you go out in there like this, one of you is going to get hurt.” CJ’s shoulders slumped and he dropped his gaze. “The fact that you trust me to have your back means a lot to me—but I’d rather lose that trust than bite my tongue. Misty and Sam, they’re… please don’t shoot me for this. They love you, and they’re not thinking about the fact that you’re Natasha right now, not the Black Widow.”

Natasha stood, her hands frozen on her half-closed zipper. “I’m not going to shoot you,” she said finally. She zipped the suit the rest of the way and sat down on the edge of the bed. “You’re right.”

He sat down next to her. “I don’t want to be right. I want you to be… okay.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever been okay.” She shoved her feet into boots, lacing them mechanically. “I can put it away in the field, CJ. I swear to you. I’ve been doing it a hell of a lot longer than you have, and I know you have to put it away, too.” She met his eyes, hoping he could see what she was trying to convey – the darkness that haunted her that she knew prowled his psyche too. “I might not be fully Black Widow right now, but I care about Misty and Sam – and you – too much to be too careless.”

“Me?” he squeaked.

Natasha smiled at him, a little sadly. “You’re a sharpshooter with a bad past… someone trained to kill before they hit puberty… and you’re not afraid to say what needs to be said. Two of those traits are shared with my husbands, and one with me. I can’t hate you. I might not always like you, but… you’re ours, mine, as much as they are.” She waved her hand in the direction of Sam and Misty’s room. 

CJ swallowed. “Coulson’s family is normal, right?” At Natasha’s slow nod, CJ met her eyes. “How young were you?”

“Training, or first kill?” She shook her head. “I don’t know for certain. Older than four, not older than eight.”

“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” CJ breathed.

“Wrong pantheon,” Natasha corrected with a small smile.

He blinked. “Okay. Okay.” He swallowed and shook his head. “So you can put it away. And you’re not going to kill me, for calling you on it?”

“No.” She rested a hand on his knee, very gently. “There aren’t many people I can trust to call me out when I need it, and you’re one of them.” She stood to resume assembling her gear. “Go get back to your hide, keep us updated. I’m counting on you for overwatch, faireoir.” At his raised eyebrow, she shook her head. “You can look it up later. Get moving.”

He did, but not before she saw a very small smile appear and be stuffed away.

{Mother, are you permitted to help me clear civilians out of here?} Natasha asked, as soon as she touched the ground floor. Even through her boots, she had a solid connection to the Goddess, and wondered if it was the approaching solstice or something in herself.

\\\In some ways. Many in the vicinity have thought of errands they have neglected, and are departing. Unfortunately, I cannot act beyond suggestions.//

{I’ll take whatever You can give,} Natasha reassured her automatically. {Clint and Phil are good and safe, right? And you’ll keep them informed, keep them from distracting me?}

\\\Yes, m’inion. Treorai and Boghdoir have returned to the base called Area 51. My druid is with them, and all three will be kept apprised of your situation.// Natasha accepted the mild rebuke with the words – it probably wasn’t smart of her to doubt her Goddess in such times. \\\I wish you to remember that Banner is not your enemy, M’inion Nat. I would prefer it if he could become your ally.//

Right. Because the giant green monster was so great at playing with others. Natasha shook her head. {I’ll do my best.}

She switched her attention back to her comms. “Mother is encouraging people to be busy elsewhere,” she reported to CJ, Misty, and Sam. “Can’t clear them all, but She is helping.”

“We decided pulling the fire alarm might spook Banner, so there’s been a lab accident instead. No one thinks anything of that, and it got most of the students out,” Sam told Natasha. “Banner and Ross are still in her lab.”

“I’ve got a squad of special forces moving in from the northwest quarter,” CJ reported. “Full tactical gear. No sign of the General.”

“Do not engage,” Natasha ordered Misty and Sam. “Not the spec ops, not Banner. We’re here to contain the chaos, not declare SHIELD’s allegiance to one side or the other.”

“Does SHIELD have allegiance?” Sam asked.

“Officially, I don’t know. Unofficially, my Goddess tells me She’d prefer Banner was an ally, so I’m on his side.” Natasha’s voice was clipped – falling into Black Widow patterns, letting her training carry her. “Stay out of sight. Get civilians clear. Do not engage. Is that understood?”

“Yes, ma’am,” all three chorused.

“Good Scoobies. Let’s do this.”

~ * ~

The Hulk was not what Natasha expected.

Oh, he was big and green, and he did a hell of a lot of damage – but he wasn’t the mindless beast she’d been briefed on. There was a sort of logic to his actions, and the ways that he struck out tended to be dramatic but not careless.

That isn’t to say that she wasn’t scared.

The Black Widow would never admit to the fear, and Agent Romanoff would find a way to deflect it in her report – but Natasha was honest with herself these days. When she made eye contact with the very large, very green, very angry transformed Banner, she felt it down to her marrow.

She’d been pinned by those eyes – luminescent green – and felt herself being judged somehow, and wondered whether she’d passed or not. He, however, had merely grunted and turned his back to her.

It was the sight of General Ross that turned her fear into white hot anger. This man, who dared to wear the same uniform that Captain America had died to protect, had brought a fully armed tactical operation to a civilian target – against a United States citizen. She might not have a hell of a lot of patriotism, but she did have a strong definition of loyalty – and he’d broken them all.

It was child’s play, really, to distract his men just enough for Banner and Ross – Betty, not General – to get away. Not enough for the General to suspect SHIELD interference, and not enough to make Banner suspicious.

Though if she’d had her way, she’d have been between the Hulk and the General, with a weapon pointed at General Thunderbolt-up-his-ass Ross. She wasn’t just an Agent of SHIELD, she was a Warrior of Gaia – and her Goddess had come down solidly on Banner’s side. That meant something to Natasha. Her duty to Gaia was clear – protect Banner. Being forced to stand aside was maddening.

She was still furious when they returned to their motel – livid as she stripped out of her tactical gear and stepped into the shower – enraged as she sluiced off the sweat. Yes, the Hulk was dangerous – yes, he should be monitored and, if possible, brought into either the military or SHIELD – but that was no acceptable reason to treat Banner like an animal.

By the time she dialed Director Fury’s phone number, she’d stuffed her anger down. After a concise report of what she’d mentally termed the Culver Clusterfuck, she paused to allow him to respond.

“Did you track his exit?”

Her resolve to maintain professionalism wavered. “No, sir,” she said, with a bite to it. “I was more concerned with the civilians injured by the military forces.”

She could picture him, rubbing one hand over his face to stall for time. “Agent Romanoff, you were assigned to observe the Hulk. The Hulk is a threat.”

Maybe if we stop shooting at him, he’d stop throwing things at us, she thought – but didn’t say. Instead, she closed her eyes and blew out a breath. “Sir. I have had less than eight hours of sleep in the past forty-eight hours. I haven’t eaten a full meal in…” she choked out a laugh. “I don’t even remember when. I’m working with green agents who, despite stellar training, are not the people I am accustomed to having in the field with me. I didn’t track Banner’s retreat because, with all due respect, sir, I’m wrung out.”

At his desk in DC, Fury leaned back in his chair. He’d never heard Romanoff complain. Oh, she bitched about cold food in the mess hall or an assignment she thought was too easy, but this was – new. He couldn’t argue that he’d pushed her limits, though.

“Duly noted.” He was reluctant, but there was nothing else he could do. If he pushed now, she was liable to quit. “You’re off for the next seventy-two hours. Pass that along to your rookies. Write your reports when you get back. I’ll send a SHIELD clean-up crew to Culver.”

“Thank you, sir.” Natasha let her exhaustion color her tone – and genuine gratitude.

“And before you ask – Barton is still in New Mexico, but he’s about to get the same three day pass you are. Coulson, too.”

Natasha didn’t question how he knew she’d ask – just sighed. “Thank you, sir,” she repeated. 

~ * ~


	30. Chapter 30

Catriona stood placidly in her white robe at the end of the medical ward, observing the scurrying technicians and medical professionals “working” on the nineteen formerly wounded SHIELD agents. Her face was perfectly composed, her hands clasped in front of her and tucked into the sleeves of her robe. Lance thought she looked like the angel from his parent’s Christmas tree.

“I just don’t understand,” one of the doctors repeated obstinately. “There is no scientific explanation for what I’m seeing. None of these agents have any sign of injury, but the bloodstains and damage to their clothes – what the Hell is going on here?”

Chuck flicked his eyes to Catriona, who didn’t respond. “Doctor, I know you’ve got letters after your name, and you probably think that means you know more about this current SNAFU than I do—”

“Do not patronize me,” the doctor growled, drawing himself up defensively.

Catriona prevented Chuck’s heated response by stepping close enough to rest one hand lightly on the former Marine’s forearm in restraint. “Doctor…?” she paused, waiting for him to introduce himself.

Her courtesy diverted him from his anger, as she’d hoped. “Woodworth. Lawrence Woodworth.” He extended a hand automatically.

She placed her own in his but dipped into a formal courtesy rather than giving it a firm shake. “Well met, Doctor Woodworth. My name is Lady Catriona O’Clare, the White Druid. It is always a pleasure to meet another whose vocation is that of healing.”

“Are you a doctor, then?” he asked, less hostilely. Chuck caught Lance flash him a hand signal reminding him not to smile.

“In a manner of speaking.” Catriona corrected with a small smile. “I have a medical degree from the University of Edinburgh. I am not currently licensed in any of your states – as I’m sure you can gather from my accent, I spend the majority of my time in the British Isles.”

“Ah.” The doctor’s posture straightened, his gaze no longer confrontational. In a single syllable, he somehow conveyed acceptance of her skill and of her identity. Now, no matter how outlandish she or her gown seemed, she was a professional colleague. “Can you explain what occurred, then?”

Catriona smiled again, this time aiming the full force of her personality at him. She shifted so that her hand was no longer in his, but tucked into the crook of his elbow. Releasing Chuck, she stepped closer to the doctor. “I shall do my best, though I fear it is of necessity an edited version of events. There are considerations, I am afraid, beyond our scientific curiosity.” She gestured at the various agents. “These wounds were incurred during an attack by a device which was not native to your world. I am certain that you will be informed of that much by your superiors, though I cannot say more. As I have had experience with injuries of that particular sort – well, I was able to reverse the damage.”

The doctor patted her hand where it was tucked in his elbow. Gone was his abrasiveness – Chuck marveled at how quickly Catriona had turned the situation to her advantage. “I understand, Lady Catriona. If it’s classified… yes.” His eyes flickered to the female agent with the largest blood stains – the first agent Catriona had healed. “I can only regret that it is not possible to study the injuries and their reversals in more detail. They are… miraculous. So much could be learned from them.”

Lance and Chuck exchanged long glances. The last thing either of them wanted was for the doctor to start running tests or making inquiries about the extent of Catriona’s abilities. Her presence alone was going to complicate matters. Adding a curious researcher would be… messy.

“If it were in my power to make such healings commonplace, I would do so,” Catriona told the doctor gravely. He did not need to know that she already did – that to heal as such was not just an ability, but her duty. Her skills could not be transferred or duplicated, and she had a finite store of energy for healing that would not meet the demand, were it widely known what she was capable of. Though she ached, as all healers did, for those she could not save, millennia had taught her that she did no favors if she exhausted herself beyond the ability to heal. Better to use her gifts with discretion, where there were no alternatives, than to dwell on that which she could not change.

“Of course,” the doctor agreed automatically. Catriona released his arm with another smile, stepping back towards Chuck and Lance. “Would it be possible for us to retire somewhere less… fraught?” Catriona asked, looking up at Chuck. “I am fatigued, and would appreciate a more restful environment.”

“Sure.” Chuck offered his elbow to her, gesturing for Lance. “Let’s grab AC’s office.”

Lance nodded, and led Chuck and Catriona to Phil’s borrowed office. Though smaller than his office at headquarters, it too had a couch – Chuck thought it was probably because most of the management at SHIELD slept in their offices as often as they slept at home.

“Welcome back,” Angie said, coming up from behind them and closing the door to the office. “Where’s AC? And Clint?”

“Still in the field,” Lance supplied, and would have continued if not interrupted by the sound of all three of them receiving a text message.

“Son of a bitch,” Chuck said under his breath as he read Misty’s message. “You shouldn’t have let him go out there alone, Lance. Fuck all knows what’s happened.”

“According to Gaia, both treorai and boghdoir – Phil and Clint – are physically unharmed, but are in some… emotional distress. It stands to reason that Natasha is affected as well,” Catriona supplied from the couch. She hadn’t been lying about her fatigue – and Chuck wasn’t wrong about the threat of nightmares, either.

“I’ll take care of it,” Lance answered wearily. “I was with Phil at the Bifrost site, I’ll explain it to Misty.” He lifted his phone, beginning to tap out his explanation.

“Alright.” Chuck crossed his arms, wincing as he jostled his still-bruised chest.

Catriona saw Chuck’s wince and frowned. “You are injured?”

“It’s not from today,” he deflected. “Fought with the blond battering ram – was that really only yesterday?”

“I doubt it’s been a full eighteen hours, cumainn, and I’ll not have you in pain in my presence.” She rose and reached for the hem of his shirt and he backed away, bumping into the desk as he retreated.

“Ma’am – Lady Catriona – I’m fine.”

One of Catriona’s eyebrows shot up, and her lip twisted in an expression so like Natasha that for a moment, Chuck would have believed them blood sisters. “Remove your shirt, Agent Bellamy, or I shall do it for you.”

“AC is going to skin me alive,” Chuck predicted as he gingerly removed his shirt. His chest was one massive bruise, visible even on his dark skin, and there were fingertip bruises and several other impressive contusions on his torso and back.

“He will do no such thing,” she informed him crisply. She approached him carefully, hands prodding gently. “You shall have to sit down, or fetch me a stool,” Catriona said, not without amusement. Angie pushed the desk chair towards Chuck, who sank on to it with a nod of thanks. “Ah, that is much improved.” Catriona ran her fingertips lightly across Chuck’s shoulders. “You may feel heat, cumainn, but do not be alarmed.”

“Only if you tell me what you’re calling me.”

The druid tilted her head. “My apologies. It is a term used, roughly, like clansman or colleague – perhaps more in line with membership in a society of common purpose.”

“Teammate,” Lance supplied with a grin.

“Very much like, yes. Does it bother you?” Now Catriona stepped around Chuck to face him, her own expression anxious. “I do not intend to offend.”

“It’s not a problem,” he assured her.

She returned to his back, pressing fingertips gently into the worst of the bruises. Beneath her fingertips, the skin blanched as she applied pressure, but instead of returning to its bruised state, it was unmarred. She continued, moving thoroughly but slowly, until each bruise had been removed from his back.

When she stepped around to face Chuck and begin treatment of his chest, she noticed his eyes were closed. “Am I hurting you, cumainn?” she asked, touching his cheek.

“No.”

“You’ve got the look of a man in pain,” she murmured, leaning close to him. “What is it?”

Chuck opened his eyes reluctantly, and they landed on Lance. Their tactical expert took less than three seconds to identify the cause of Chuck’s unease. “My Lady,” Lance murmured, and Catriona turned to him. Lance gestured, and Catriona stepped to him, still looking puzzled. “It isn’t pain he’s fighting,” Lance said, as quietly as he could. “You’re a beautiful woman, and… he finds himself…”

Catriona’s eyes widened and her cheeks pinked. “Oh. I did not – ”

“I know that. So does he. Involuntary, biological reaction,” Lance explained.

“Right. Is that why he thought Phil would be upset?”

“Yep.” Lance winked at her, pulling away and speaking at a more normal volume. “Angie, are you getting photos of this? Because Buffy is not going to believe we made Lady Catriona blush otherwise.”

“Lancelot!” Chuck protested.

Catriona, rather than being upset, laughed delightedly and returned to her patient. “Be at ease, cumainn. I am not so easily offended.” She raised one eyebrow to be sure he understood her dual meaning, and he nodded slowly. She resumed her healing – though not as slowly, and with less exposition. When she’d finished, she left her hand on Chuck’s shoulder for a moment. “I apologize, if I caused you discomfort.”

He reached for his shirt, moving smoothly now. “Wasn’t me I was worried about, ma’am.”

“There is no need for formality, cumainn.”

Chuck popped his head through the neck of his shirt and stared at her. “You’re one to talk! You fucking curtsey!”

Angie made a noise of protest at the expletive but Catriona only laughed. “As you say, Chuck. I shall do my best to be – what is it Clint says? – more of this millennia? – if you shall promise me that you will stop treating me as a divine being.”

“Ma’am – Lady Catriona – ” He shook his head and tried again. “Catriona, I’m standing in a building full of agents that are alive because you’re hooked into the universe with major mojo. And that’s not going into what I know you’ve saved Barton and Romanoff from. Cut me some slack, alright? My momma raised me to be respectful, and she’d smack me into next week if she thought I was smarting off to someone as powerful as you.”

There was a brief knock at the door, immediately followed by it being pushed open. Catriona found herself shunted behind Chuck as Angie reached for her side-arm, but both reactions were unnecessary. Phil and Clint stood in the doorway, both looking worn.

“Dhearthair,” Catriona murmured as she stepped around Chuck, reaching out for Clint. “Treorai.”

The two men stepped inside the office and closed the door, Phil automatically locking it as Clint checked the blinds. Then, in unison, they drew her in close. Catriona rested her head against Clint’s chest, felt Phil curl his body around her back. Neither of them spoke immediately, and the Scoobies respected the silence.

“I owe you a thanks, sis,” Clint said to Catriona, when he could speak. He tilted her head up until she was looking at him.

“For healing Phil?” Catriona asked, looking at the older man. “It was not a serious injury, dhearthair.”

“You did more than heal me, little one,” Phil corrected gently. “You made sure I didn’t have to add another agent’s name to the memorial, that I didn’t have to make a call to another agent’s family. That’s… bigger than a scalp lac.”

Chuck cleared his throat. “She also seems to have smoothed it over with the doctors here. Apparently, she could fix the damage because of what did it – not because of what the damage was.”

“Smart,” Phil complimented.

“Not my first rodeo,” Catriona informed him pertly.

“There is something inherently wrong with hearing ‘rodeo’ in an Irish accent,” Angie remarked to Lance.

The three Scoobies had moved behind the desk to give Phil, Clint, and Catriona space. As Phil sank into the couch, dragging the other two with him, he pinned Chuck with a look that was more Agent Coulson than Phil for the first time since he’d entered the office. “Sitrep.”

“Foreign bad guy beats good guys to hell, druid comes and rescues us, foreign good guy eliminates foreign bad guy, foreign good guy disappears, scientists struggle to understand,” Chuck supplied.

Lance looked up from his phone. “Good gals at Culver get pinned between green guy and spec ops, scary good gal tells big boss guy she needs a fucking day off.”

“Did Nat actually curse at the Director?” Phil asked, stunned.

“No, apparently she sighed. Like, a real one. Buffy reports her actual words were she was ‘wrung out.’ She’s on a seventy-two hour leave starting now. Buffy and Sam and CJ too, and Buffy thinks that—”

Phil’s cell phone, which he’d thought irreparably damaged in the Destroyer attack, rang. He couldn’t read the display but answered it anyway. “Coulson. Yes, sir.” He tried to lever himself up off the couch to turn away, but Clint’s hand on his knee stopped him. His posture stiffened as he spoke to Director Fury.

“Are you alright?” Catriona asked Clint quietly, not wanting the Director to hear her in the background. “If something happened to – ”

“I was getting updates,” Clint assured her. “I just wasn’t… telling him everything.” He flicked his eyes to Phil. “Need to get him back to home base.”

“I see.” Catriona frowned at Phil. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Anything we can do?” Lance added.

Clint nodded slowly. “Yeah. Actually. Chuck, we’re gonna need a plane and a pilot – I think all of us need to get back to HQ as soon as possible.”

“On it,” Chuck said immediately, pulling his cell phone out and stepping to a corner to make a few calls.

“And you,” Clint continued, pointing to Lance and Angie, “are officially appointed Catriona-keepers.”

“Aye, sir,” Angie said flippantly, but she moved closer to Catriona when she said it.

“I don’t need a keeper, dhearthair,” Catriona began hotly, and Clint cut her off.

“I’ve got orders from the mothership not to leave you alone or you’ll have nightmares, and I’m not disobeying those orders,” he said sternly. “I can’t do it all myself, but I can delegate. Right?” He aimed a glare at Lance and Angie.

“Yep,” Lance said, sitting down on the arm of the couch next to Catriona and putting a casual arm around her shoulders. “I think my unofficial team title is stand-in-cuddler,” he confessed to the druid, who stifled a giggle.

Phil hung up the phone and turned back to his team – his family. “We’re on a seventy-two. I want to get the hell out of here.”

“Already on it,” Clint told him.

“Wheels up in twenty okay?” Chuck asked Phil, tilting his cell phone away from his mouth for a moment.

“Very,” Phil said with feeling, and took a deep breath. “Anything here that needs to be handled?”

Clint reached for Phil’s hand, smoothing his thumb over his husband’s knuckles in a familiar, comforting caress. “Not by you. We’re just going to sit here for the next twenty minutes, and let our team handle it.”

Phil leaned his head against the back of the couch and let out a long breath. “Team isn’t the right word,” he murmured, half to himself.

“Teaglach,” Catriona supplied without looking at him. “Family.”

~ * ~


	31. Chapter 31

Misty was prepared to argue with Natasha about reporting the SHIELD headquarters. The blonde knew that if Natasha set foot in the building, she wouldn’t be likely to leave it until all of her reports were filed or her husbands were home – whichever came first. Reports, Misty felt, could wait.

“I just want to go home,” Natasha sighed as she slid into the SUV. They’d landed at a SHIELD airstrip not far from HQ. “Don’t look at me like that, Buffy.”

“You surprised me. I had a whole argument lined up in my head, and now I don’t have to use it.” Misty flicked a glance in the rear-view mirror, taking in Sam and CJ’s weary forms as well. “You OK if all four of us go there? Until you can trade us for Cuz and Sensei?”

Natasha fixed her with what was probably supposed to be an intimidating glare. “I don’t need you to stay.”

“Of course not,” CJ said from the seat behind her. “Maybe we need to know you’re not alone.” Sam kicked at his foot. “Cut it out, Sam. I’m being serious.”

“None of the rest of us have been to their house,” Sam protested. “I don’t think they need it crawling with Scoobies.”

“Phil wants to have everyone over for food, soon,” Natasha supplied. “And I’m planning a slumber party for the girls.” At Misty’s surprised squeak, Natasha gave a half-embarrassed shrug. “It’s not that we don’t want you at the house. I’ve never had anywhere to invite people to, before. Or people to invite.”

CJ reached around the headrest and squeezed Natasha’s shoulder. “So can we hang out at the secret clubhouse until the others get home?”

“Yeah.” Natasha tilted her head to the side, squeezing his hand between her head and shoulder for a moment before releasing him. “Yeah. There’s probably some casserole in the freezer, and I’ve got some clothes you can borrow, if you want to get cleaned up.”

Misty grinned. “If you think Agent Coulson is impressive in the field, wait until you see Phil in the kitchen. Damn, that man can cook.”

“He learned from his mom,” Natasha said, yawning. “Only person I know that makes better French toast than Phil is Diane.”

The conversation came in tired spurts as Misty navigated to the triad’s ‘safe-house.’ Misty got a kick out of the fact that they weren’t even pretending that it wasn’t home anymore – she didn’t think the three of them had spent a night anywhere but here for anything but SHIELD business since Christmas… despite being very careful to emphasize this was just one of a cycle of ‘safe-houses’ they used.

She pulled the SUV into the garage next to Lola and turned off the engine. “Home,” she told Natasha, nudging the redhead.

Natasha rousted herself from the doze she’d fallen into and stretched. “Leave the bags and crap,” she said as she got out of the vehicle. “We’ll deal with it later. Right now I want a shower, clean clothes, real food – ”

Misty opened the door between the garage and the house, grinning. “Go take your shower, nascha. We’ll unpack the car, get a casserole started. When you’re done, one of us will take a turn, okay?”

“Bless you, grasshopper,” Natasha said with fervor, dropping an affectionate kiss on Misty’s forehead as she went by.

As soon as Natasha was out of earshot, Misty turned back to Sam and CJ. “Okay, bags into the house – and I’ve got some rules for you to learn.”

“Of course you do,” Sam said on a sigh as she loaded herself up with gear.

“Firstly – don’t flirt with any of the three of them, or Catriona.” Misty grabbed bags too, shoving them into CJ’s arms when he hesitated. “Just don’t. Number two – compliment Phil’s cooking to Natasha or Clint, but not to Phil. He just brushes it off, and it pisses the other two off. Number three – if you hear Clint use the forbidden nickname, pretend you didn’t.”

“Forbidden nickname?” Sam repeated, hauling her load into the living room and depositing it on the floor.

“There’s only one nickname between the three of them that they’re uncomfortable with in public, and Clint’s the only one that says it, and if he does – pretend he didn’t,” Misty advised.

“It can’t be that bad,” Sam grumbled.

Misty fixed her with a stare that had more commanding officer than friend in it. “It is to them.”

Sam straightened reflexively. “Got it.” She rubbed her shoulders, looking around the living room. “This is… nice.” She trailed a hand along the mantle of the fireplace, looking at the framed photographs. “I don’t know what I was expecting, but this wasn’t it.”

CJ lowered the bags he was carrying to the floor, also taking in the space. “Actually, it’s pretty much what I pictured.”

Sam and Misty exchanged glances. “You’d be the first not to be surprised,” Misty said finally.

He made a face and looked for the kitchen, making a pleased noise when he located it. He turned on the oven to preheat and began looking through the freezer containers. Sam and Misty trailed after him, taking seats at the breakfast bar. CJ selected a pan that seemed to have ham, cheese, and potatoes involved, figuring it was appropriate comfort food – then pulled a second out of the freezer when he remembered they wouldn’t be the only guests.

“You look… um… like you know what you’re doing,” Sam said. She twisted a lock of hair around her finger.

“It’s casserole. You cook it, freeze it, heat it up when you need it.” At their blank looks, he sighed. “I don’t even have a mom, and I know how to cook casserole.”

Natasha was still toweling her hair when she came down the steps, catching the last of CJ’s comment. “I’m pretty sure Diane would be willing to step in for yours,” she told him lightly. “She was for mine.” She glanced at the casseroles he’d pulled out and nodded. “Good choice. Of course, hard to go wrong with potatoes.”

“I’ll just go – get cleaned up,” Sam said awkwardly. 

“I laid out some clothes in the guest room,” Natasha told her. “Second door on your right at the top of the stairs. There’s soap and towels and stuff in the guest bath.”

They were quiet as Sam retreated – and there was really no other way to describe it – from the kitchen. Natasha set aside the towel and began to comb her hair, grumbling.

“Oh, let me do it,” Misty said, taking the comb from her. “If you hate it long so much, why do you keep it?”

“Because my husbands like it,” Natasha murmured. She let Misty tend to her hair, watching CJ putter in the kitchen. “Why is Sam the one freaking out, and you two are cool as cucumbers?”

CJ smiled, a little sadly. “I think Sam’s life was more normal than mine, before SHIELD. She doesn’t seem to know how to roll with the weirdness as well, anyway.”

“Any day I get to make my own choices is a good day,” Natasha murmured. CJ nodded emphatically.

“Exactly. I don’t think she gets that.”

“Her idea of non-supportive parents are ones that complain over Thanksgiving dinner that their daughter is a government employee, not a private practice lawyer,” Misty added softly. “She doesn’t get it, Ceej. Never will. And I’m kind of glad.”

Natasha nodded, momentarily disrupting Misty’s combing. “We’ve got enough fucked up to go around. She can have her normal.”

CJ snorted. “Clint told me once that AC picks the broken ones on purpose – that our broken bits were an asset instead of a liability.”

“Yeah.” Natasha let the word come out on a sigh as Misty set aside the comb. “He’s done it his whole career – actually, Diane said he’s done it since he was a kid. Always picking up strays.” She shook her head. “I don’t understand it, but it’s one of the things I love about him.”

“It’s an admirable trait, to be sure,” CJ agreed. Natasha’s gaze narrowed, and Misty flinched. “I’m not hitting on your husband,” he replied calmly. “He’s not my type.”

“Fuck, are we going to have that damned conversation again?” Misty burst out, then covered her mouth with her hand. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay, grasshopper.” Natasha patted Misty’s free hand softly. “We don’t have to.”

“You don’t,” CJ corrected. “I kind of owe my squad leader an explanation, and it’ll be easier to do it here, where there’s good beer and homemade food, than at some crappy bar where we’re half afraid we’ll be overheard.”

“You don’t owe me anything,” Misty protested.

“I kind of do,” he disagreed, but with a smile. “I’ll wait until the food’s done, though.”

“It’s easier on an empty stomach,” Natasha told him. “Nothing to throw up.”

Misty looked between them, her eyebrows raised. “Okay. Professional courtesy out the fucking window, and personal concern front and center. Are you in trouble, CJ? Do I need to get an unregistered gun and a silencer?”

“I was in trouble,” CJ corrected. “A long time ago. But I’m not, anymore. SHIELD took care of it – actually, Clint’s the one who put an arrow through trouble’s eye.”

“Trouble have a name?”

CJ and Natasha shared another long look. “Go take your shower, faireoir,” Natasha advised gently. “I’ll tell them the basics. It’s easier, when you don’t have to do it all.”

Sam, coming down the stairs now in SHIELD sweats and a t-shirt, paused. “What did I miss?”

“Natasha’s going to fill you in on some of my backstory while I get cleaned up,” CJ told her as he passed her on the stairs. “Don’t let them burn the casserole.”

~ * ~

Misty pushed a bite of potatoes around with her fork. She was full, but they were so damned tasty that she didn’t want to leave any behind, even knowing she’d regret it later.

Natasha solved the debate for her by spearing the last bite of potatoes from Misty’s plate and popping it into her own mouth. “Don’t play with your food,” she said around the mouthful.

“Don’t talk with your mouth full,” Misty retorted, sticking her tongue out.

CJ chuckled, but Sam was quiet, her eyes fixed on a point no one else could see. “Would it… can I go home?” she asked finally. “To my apartment, I mean.”

“Of course,” Misty answered immediately. “You want to take the SUV?”

Sam nodded, and Natasha retrieved the keys from the bowl near the front door, handing them to her with a raised eyebrow.

“I just… need some time alone, I think,” Sam replied. And to call her mom, she thought, but didn’t say. 

“You’re welcome anytime,” Natasha assured her. “Although I don’t recommend surprising a house full of secret agents.”

“Duly noted.” Her smile was somewhat forced, but her eyes were warm. “Goodnight, Agent Romanoff.”

Natasha watched her leave, crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head to one side. “Grasshopper… that seem odd to you?”

“In so many ways,” Misty agreed, lifting the beer bottle from next to Sam’s plate. “She barely touched her beer. Like she knew she’d be driving.”

“Not everyone handles shit the same way, Buffy,” CJ reminded her. “Maybe she really does just need to be alone. My therapist tells me there are people out there with perfectly valid solo coping techniques.” His lips quirked. “I’m just not one of them.”

“What would you do? If you weren’t here?” Misty asked.

CJ tilted back in his chair. “Hit the range. Try to beat Barton’s record – stop laughing, Romanoff, it could happen – maybe go down to the ring and spar. I can deal alone, if I’ve got something else to focus on, but it’s better if I’m active. Usually.” He looked down at his empty plate. “Potatoes and teammates seem to be working pretty good this time. How about you?”

Mistry shrugged. “Your therapist would have a field day with me. I’d go home, drink too much, eat food with very little nutritional content, and watch trashy TV shows.”

“That’s pretty much what I did, before… us,” Natasha said, gesturing to the house. “Not as much food, lots of vodka. A stack of movies Clint had quoted from during the last mission.”

“So he’s always done that?” CJ asked. “I thought that was just trying to keep… I don’t know, keep it light, keep eyes off your relationship.”

Natasha laughed. It surprised her, but the relaxed warmth was welcome. “Always, and he’s not acting. He really is an imp. The part that you don’t see outside this house – well, I should say when we’re in mixed company – is that he’s a completely hopeless romantic.”

“Hence the forbidden nickname,” Misty said with a grin.

“She didn’t tell it to me,” CJ added quickly, when fire sparked in Natasha’s eyes. “Just that, if I heard it, I was to pretend I hadn’t. Which I will. Pretend, I mean.” He gestured with the beer bottle. “You’ve got plenty of other nicknames for me to tease you about, I don’t need to know the forbidden one.”

Natasha’s smile was slow and fond. “Clint has always had a thing for nicknames. I don’t think he and Barney – his brother – had them growing up, or at least, not nice ones. So he makes up for it by sticking practically everyone he meets with one… or several.”

“We’d noticed,” Misty drawled. She dragged herself to a standing position and gathered dirty plates. “Y’all got a dishwasher, or do I need to do ‘em by hand?”

“Just put them in the sink – Phil will insist on doing them,” Natasha advised her. “According to him, no one else can get them properly clean.”

“Gee, Sensei being a control freak. Never would have guessed,” Misty muttered.

CJ laughed and rose too. “You wanna watch TV or something? Maybe throw on a ball game while we wait?”

Natasha eyed him carefully. “You’re really okay?”

“Yeah, I’m good.” His voice dropped, and he squeezed one hand on her shoulder as he passed her. “This is good – being here, the three of us, unwinding together. It’s new, but I could get used to it.”

Natasha rose, emptying her own beer and grabbing the other empties from the table, dumping them into the garbage. “Yeah. I know what you mean. First time Clint invited himself to stay after a mission – which was a hell of a long time before we were anything but friends – I couldn’t decide what angle he was trying to play. Took me weeks to decide he wasn’t under orders to do a psych eval.”

Misty followed them into the living room, sinking into her usual armchair with a sigh. “As if psych would trust Cuz to evaluate anyone.”

“I didn’t know that, then,” Natasha reminded her. She sat down on the couch, which felt large and lonely without her husbands. CJ sat at the other end and hauled her feet into his lap. She’d expected it to feel awkward – he hadn’t even liked her, a few days ago – but instead she felt… comforted. She reached for the remote, tossed it to CJ, and laid her head on the arm of the couch.

~ * ~

Natasha felt him before she saw him. Her eyes were still closed, but she could feel the strong planes of his body as he lifted her gently, settling back down onto the couch with her against him. Another warm body pressed into her, and she let out a deep sigh as she realized they were both home – both safe.

“Welcome home,” she said, opening her eyes. Phil smiled at her, using one hand to smooth the hair back from her face. He’d put himself into the corner of the couch again, with Natasha and Clint stretched out lengthwise along it. It was their usual cuddling position, and the familiarity was as welcome as the touch.

“Hello, love,” Phil breathed, before kissing her gently. He backed off so that Clint could take a turn, but when she would have deepened the kiss, he interrupted. “The kids and Catriona are still here.”

“Oh. Right.” Natasha blinked, trying to swim up out of the fatigue that pulled at her. “Buffy? Faireoir?”

“We’re here,” CJ confirmed. “Chuck’s grabbing a shower, Lance and Angie are in the dining room, and the pixie is in the garden.”

“Pixie. You mean Catriona?” Natasha asked.

“Petite pretty pixie,” CJ confirmed with a grin. “She reminds me of Tinkerbell.”

“Rule one,” Misty hissed at CJ.

“I’m not flirting with her, Buffy,” CJ explained patiently. “She’s not my type.”

“You said Sensei wasn’t your type!”

CJ raised his eyebrows at her. “He isn’t. Neither is she. You got a problem with that, Summers?”

“Enough,” Phil commanded. “I don’t care if you call her a pixie, CJ, but you’d probably better make sure she doesn’t mind. I don’t think you’d enjoy having a druid angry with you. I thought Sam was with you?” He looked down at Natasha, who was still working on waking up. Clint had burrowed his head into her neck.

“She was,” Misty said reluctantly. “Took a shower, ate, and then I let her take the SUV home.” At Phil’s raised eyebrow, her shoulders hunched defensively. “We’re off the clock, I couldn’t order her to stay.”

“Nor should you have,” Catriona agreed, stepping into the living room. She sized up the occupants, debating, before moving to sit at Clint and Natasha’s tangled feet. “It is a pity that she could not be at ease in your company, but I doubt sincerely that it was due to any flaw of yours, laoch beag.”

“Thanks.” Misty sighed. “Catriona, did you get a chance to meet CJ yet?” At their head shakes, Misty gestured. “CJ Forrester, this is Lady Catriona O’Clare, the White Druid. Catriona, this is CJ. He’s our sharpshooter, and a damned fine tactical mind.”

“It’s a pleasure.” CJ toasted her with his beer. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”

Catriona’s gaze turned to his, and he quaked a bit at the intensity of it. “I could say the same,” she murmured. She tilted her head to one side, still watching him, but didn’t speak again.

“Deirfiur, stop scaring my apprentice,” Clint said through Natasha’s curls.

Catriona’s eyes flickered to Clint and then a smile overtook her expression. “My apologies, dhearthair. I am pleased to make your acquaintance, Faireoir.”

“I haven’t had a chance to look that up yet,” CJ grumbled. “It’s not fair.”

“You need not look it up – I can translate. Natasha has dubbed you ‘watcher’ which, given your position in the team, seems quite appropriate.” Catriona smile was more relaxed now. “Although why she did it in Gaelic and not in Russian…”

“Wanted him to have a family name,” Natasha murmured. “Gaelic is for family.”

CJ blinked. He tried to form a response, but his mouth didn’t appear to be working.

The most frightening agent he’d ever met – perhaps the most frightening agent to ever work for SHIELD – had given him a nickname that he liked – that was respectful – that came from a language she shared only with people she cared a great deal about, and…

Catriona rose gracefully and crossed to where he was sitting, brushing tears from his cheeks with gentle fingers. “I remember this feeling,” Catriona told him softly. “The first time Clint called me ‘sister’ in my tongue, the first time in centuries that anyone had claimed kinship to me. It is… overwhelming, is it not? But they are genuine, faireoir – this is not an attempt to curry favor or to obligate you. Their bonds to the Goddess do not allow that kind of deception, not about family. Natasha means it, and if she will claim you as kin, then I will do the same.”

“Teaglach,” Chuck corrected from the stairs. He’d descended quietly, during Catriona’s comments, not wanting to startle anyone.

“Teaglach,” Lance and Angie agreed from the door.

At CJ’s baffled look, Catriona translated. “Family. Clan.”

“And this clan has had a hell of a long couple of weeks,” Chuck agreed. “And our clan chiefs haven’t had any time alone, just the three of them, in at least that long. I think the rest of us should get the hell out of here, and let them reconnect.”

Phil’s face flushed, amusing all of the Scoobies and his spouses. “You don’t have to – ”

“I know we don’t,” Misty said. She rose from her chair, swooped down and pressed kisses to Phil, Clint, and Natasha’s foreheads. “Anyone who wants is welcome to join me at my place,” Misty said, looking at her teammates and Catriona. “You’re definitely coming with me,” she informed the druid. “No night terrors for you tonight.”

“I appreciate that.” Catriona had given up trying to argue them out of it – she was too relieved not to have to face those particular memories.

No one was particularly surprised that all of them – Misty, CJ, Lance, Angie, Chuck, and Catriona – wound up in the second SUV and then in Misty’s apartment. And if there was a rather large cuddle pile in the living room that may or may not have included some movie-induced tears and late night confessions, no one would admit it.

~ * ~

“What do you say about moving upstairs to the bed?” Phil asked his spouses when they were alone in the house.

“I hate to say it, but I think I might be too tired for playtime,” Natasha said, sitting up and yawning again.

Phil smiled, leaning forward to stroke a finger down her cheek. “Beds are for sleeping too, my love. Couches, however, are not kind to middle-aged backs.”

Clint sat up reluctantly as well, not liking even those few feet of distance between himself and his spouses. “Bed,” he agreed. “Playtime later.”

The triad managed to get up the stairs, out of their clothes, and into the bed without any more serious incident than Clint stubbing his toe on the dresser – again. When all three were tucked in together, Natasha in the center this time, Phil let out a long sigh. “This is better,” he said, tangling his hand in Clint’s where it rested on Natasha.

“Much,” Natasha agreed. “I don’t think I can do that again.”

Phil tensed. “What? Go out in the field?”

“Go out in the field without my partner, with green agents for backup, having had no rest between assignments,” Natasha elaborated. She yawned again. “I’m not ready to walk away from SHIELD, but I’m ready to put some terms into my contract.”

Clint nuzzled her hair, letting nose be filled with that indescribable scent of his wife. “Seems reasonable. It was damned foolish of Fury to send you out again so soon.”

“Was it foolish, or intentionally reckless?” Phil’s voice was thoughtful in the dark. Neither of them answered him. He yawned as well. “Let’s leave talk like that outside the bedroom, loves.”

“Agreed.” Clint snuggled closer to Natasha. “Sleep. Playtime later.”

Natasha wasn’t sure how late they slept the next morning. She’d stirred briefly about her normal rising time, but had no real reason to get out of bed, and two very warm reasons to stay. By the time her bladder and stomach were jointly protesting the extended stay, the sun was high and she felt fully rested for the first time since she’d put on Natalie Rushman’s clothes.

Carefully, she extricated herself from her still-sleeping husbands and made for the bathroom. After her bladder was satisfied, she headed downstairs to see what they had on hand for breakfast – or lunch. She doubted it would be much… they didn’t keep fresh food on hand when there were missions afoot.

She paused when she reached the kitchen, blinking at the vase of flowers sitting next to a box of fresh bagels. There was a note on top. “Auntie Nat – sorry I ran away from the feelings last night. I didn’t mean to upset anyone, but right then I really needed to call my mom. I wasn’t sure how to say that without it hurting anyone, so I just left. Mom informed me that wasn’t very mature and I probably hurt feelings my way anyway. So. I know you like sunflowers, and I figured bagels and schmear are a good peace offering. I’m sorry that I have the emotional capacity of a tea spoon. – Love, Sam.”

Natasha fingered the petals of one of the sunflowers, a smile forming. She had been hurt, and confused, when Sam made her abrupt escape – but she understood the girl’s actions better now. It wasn’t that she didn’t want her team family – she just needed her blood family first. That was okay – Phil got that way sometimes too.

She selected a bagel and went to the fridge for cream cheese. Sam had apparently decided one of everything was in order, so Natasha indulged herself by trying several different flavors. She took her feast into the living room and settled into the couch, feeling lazy and content.

Phil joined her about a half-hour later, lifting an eyebrow at the bagels. “Nice to know my family isn’t the only one that apologizes with food.”

Natasha’s smile was fond. “Apparently not.” Phil sat down on the couch next to her with his own bagel selection, and she couldn’t help but press in closer to him, wiggling until she could get under his arm, snuggled against his chest.

“You shouldn’t get between a man and his food,” Phil said, amusement flickering in his eyes.

“I already ate, and now I’m hungry for something else.”

One side of Phil’s lip quirked up. “Yeah? Well, I need fuel before I can fix that for you, love.” Natasha said something rude in French and Phil laughed, switching his bagel to the other hand so that he could pull her close. “Goddess, I missed you.”

“I missed you too.” She buried her face against him, breathing deeply of that special Phil smell. “Both of you.”

“But you weren’t so sure I missed you?” he asked gently. “Clint told me you were… unsure.”

Natasha sighed. “I know you love me, loverling, but… sometimes I get… why would you want me, when you can have Clint? I know the truth, dear heart, when I’m with you but… when we’re apart, it’s hard for me to remember. You two fit so well together…” she trailed off, pressing her face against him. It was stupid, she knew. Stupid and insecure and yet…

Phil set aside his bagel and wrapped both arms around her. “We do fit well together, but there’s always a piece missing when you aren’t with us.” He tilted her head up with one finger, smiling down into her eyes. “I don’t love either of you more than the other, because there’s no way for one infinity to surpass the other.”

“You’re as bad as Clint,” Natasha murmured, but kept her eyes on Phil’s. 

“Stands to reason.” He leaned down enough to kiss her sweetly, tenderly. “You have no idea how many times I’ve reached out to hold you, to kiss you, since you went undercover. Even with Clint in bed with me, I still reach for you, love.”

Clint stumbled down the steps, made his own bagel selections and brought the carafe of coffee to refill their mugs. Phil had returned to his own brunch, watching Clint settle onto Natasha’s other side.

“Can we have a serious conversation, before we get distracted?” Clint asked, looking between Phil and Natasha.

“As long as it’s a good kind of serious,” Natasha replied. Her words were muffled against Phil’s chest, but Clint could hear them in his mind as well.

“I’ve been thinking about someday…” Clint began, trailing off because he wasn’t sure how to approach the subject.

“So have I,” Phil admitted. “Lance asked me what our plans were, and where the Scoobies fit into them. I promised him we’d talk about it.”

“Mine isn’t about the Scoobies.” Clint looked down at his plate. “Let’s start with yours.”

“They’re ours,” Natasha said firmly. “SHIELD or not. If we leave SHIELD and they want to follow, then we’ll damned well find a place for them. I’ve got enough tucked away to keep us solvent for a while, and there’s always private security gigs.”

“And if they don’t want to leave SHIELD? Or only a few of them do?” Phil asked gently. “Do we break up the squad?”

Clint mulled that over around a bite of bagel. “Can’t force them to leave – can’t force them to stay. Nat’s right – they’re ours, and we’ll take care of them if they want to be part of someday. And if they don’t…” he shrugged. “It won’t be a secret anymore, so it doesn’t matter if some of them stay at SHIELD and gossip like crazy about us.”

“Good point.” Phil finished his brunch and set his plate on the coffee table next to his mug. “If we’re going to lay wagers, my money is at least five of them following us.”

“Misty, CJ, Chuck, Lance, Angie… maybe Sam, maybe Doc, maybe Alley Cat?” Natasha guessed.

“That’s my take,” Phil agreed. “Sam more so than Doc or Alley Cat. I could be wrong.”

“You usually aren’t about this kind of stuff,” Clint said. He set his bagel aside, appetite disappearing as he debated how to bring up the next subject.

Natasha released one hand from where it was curled into Phil’s chest to reach back for his hand. “Just say it, dearling.”

“When someday comes… I want Phil to be the father.”

Phil blinked. “What? Why?”

“The world doesn’t need more Bartons,” Clint replied softly. “I think it could use more Coulsons.”

Natasha leaned over and kissed him, as tenderly as Phil had kissed her, and ran a hand through Clint’s hair. “It’s not something we have to decide now, dearling… and in the end, it will probably be up to Gaia.”

“It’s not someday, yet,” Phil reminded them both, and there was mischief in his eyes. “We’ll need to practice, before we do any actual procreation…”

Clint’s grin was equally impish. “Lots of practice.”

Natasha squirmed out from between them and made for the stairs up to the bedrooms. “Better move it, boys, or I’ll start without you.”

~ * ~


End file.
